


Paradise Of Zyfria

by cairistiona13



Category: EXO (Band), SM Entertainment | SMTown
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - MAMA (Music Video), Ancient History, Angst, Danger, Dragons, FFAU, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Griffins, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MMORPGs, Magical Tattoos, Monster Hunters, Monsters, On the Run, Post-Modern, RPF, Safety in Numbers, War, magical cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairistiona13/pseuds/cairistiona13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[RPG/FINAL FANTASY/POWER OF 12!AU] In a country where psychic powers are seen as something terrible, Joonmyun has one of the worst. In order to escape death, he leaves the village he grew up in with the help of a teleporter named Jongin who is not what he seems. Life is not easy on the run, even when he has a growing entourage to hide within, and certainly not when his first companions are Jongin’s best friend, a stoic child called Sehun who seems incapable of smiling except when he sees their other companion, a boy named Zitao who is from a parish so advanced he seems to be from the future, along with Zitao’s magical flying cat pet called Peach. As they gain companions, in order to stay alive they all have to keep moving, keep learning, or they will be caught and the world as they know it will be destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Level One

**Author's Note:**

> This was started in July 2012 and updated yesterday after two years...I will try to be more prompt next time...

Kim Joonmyun stood in the front doorway of his flat, stretching. As usual, people gave his flat a wide berth, as if it would make them sick, or the building would fall on top of them if they got too close, but it wasn’t just his home—it was also him. People hadn’t walked near to him when he was in the street for four months. It was like he was diseased, and they all knew it. His town was full of gossips.

He leaned against the doorframe and stared out at the outer stone walls of the building opposite, thinking. He had to go and buy food. He almost didn’t remember the last time he’d bought something to eat (four days), but he had no money to buy it with, and even if he had, he was not sure people would sell to him. But his stomach was empty, his throat sore, and he knew he had to move quickly.

He ran a hand through his hair, which was clean, like the rest of him, although wet, and damp cloth stuck to his back. He was in a better situation than some of the others. Although his gas had been turned off long ago and the water earlier that week, with his power water, certainly, was never an issue. Four months ago, he had woken up, skin drenched, bed soaked, and water dripping from his fingertips. He still couldn’t entirely control it, but he was working on it. He had nothing else to do. Nobody would employ him.

The water power was a bad omen in Thirrum, stemming from a story of a boy who drowned all the neighbours’ children and cursed the town to have someone with the water power each generation to continue his legacy, and for a young orphan whose parents had died in suspicious circumstances, having such a power was not in Joonmyun’s favour.

He had always been polite to people and never gossiped. He was lucky he hadn’t yet been disposed of, but Joonmyun—and his parents, when they were alive—had been reasonably well-liked before his unfortunate power gain. He supposed that was something in his favour, stopping an angry mob from chasing him from their village, or the guards from arresting him. They were very superstitious.

He didn’t want to hurt their children. He still counted himself as one. But they would not listen to his protests. He had tried his best to show them he meant them no harm, but they still would not listen. What had he done before his birth to deserve such a curse?

At seventeen years old he should have already been married with children, but he had grown used to the idea of never being able to settle down. Who would marry a cursed man?

Joonmyun shut the door behind him, patting his pocket to check his keys were there. One spare key was in a flowerpot around the side of the house, and another wedged on top of the door frame. He had been robbed many times before, of all his crockery and stationery. His flat had nearly been repossessed when he couldn’t pay his bills, but there was some kindness left in the town for the orphan, so he still lived there, although it was miserable and tiring to live there alone, and very cold.

There was little left to steal except clothing now, but he would rather they didn’t end up on the flea market. He needed them, and to get back under a roof, especially as Thirrum got even colder in the winter.

He walked down to the market, eyes tracing the cracks between the cobblestones for any loose change that may have spilt from someone’s pocket. He was lucky enough to find a soultaan; a tenth of a gold holfak and worth a banana and some grapes from the fruit seller’s stall. If he could find another, or, better, a moreng, worth twenty per cent of a gold holfak, he could get a bread roll or two to go with it, and that would feed him until morning.

Luck wasn’t on his side, so he took his soultaan over to the fruit seller.

The man simply ignored him as if he wasn’t there. In the end, he picked up a banana and leant to put the coin in the man’s bag, and the seller brought a dagger down, narrowly missing his fingers.

“I only wanted to pay,” Joonmyun said, hurt at the silent accusation of theft.

The man wrinkled his nose and yanked the copper coin out of Joonmyun’s hand. “Take your grapes,” he hissed. “And be gone.”

Joonmyun wasted no more time and broke a stem from a larger bunch. There were only ten grapes on it but it and the banana would feed him for now.

He spun away, stuffing the grapes into his mouth like the ravenous child he was, and nearly collided with a tall, skinny boy.

He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. He was dressed in little more than rags—a mud-stained pair of torn shorts and a patched, old tunic over the top—, and his skin was dark with dirt, mud pressed between his bare toes. Joonmyun could spot a tan under all the mud, suggesting the boy either was homeless or spent much of his time in the sun. Joonmyun had never seen him before, which suggested he wasn’t from Thirrum, though Joonmyun couldn’t imagine why he would be here if he wasn’t. Thirrum wasn’t exactly the best place to go to if you were homeless. The neighbouring parishes all knew plenty of bad stories about Thirrum.

“Sorry,” the child said absently, looking behind Joonmyun at the fruit stall with beady eyes.

Joonmyun shrugged and simply kept going. When the grapes were finished, he peeled the banana and thrust it into his mouth, almost swallowing whole.

Because of this, he didn’t see what the child did, but a second later there were footsteps running in Joonmyun’s direction, chased by shouting shopkeepers and what sounded like guards in clinking armour. The boy smacked into Joonmyun’s back, almost causing Joonmyun to drop his lunch, and a bread roll fell to the floor out of a bundle held close to his chest.

Several months before, Joonmyun would have given the bread back to the seller. Several months before, Joonmyun hadn’t been starving.

But because he was, he dived on the dropped bread and nearly inhaled it, even eating the dirt covering it without so much as a twitch of his nose.

That was his mistake.

The guards were on him immediately, slamming him against the nearest wall and calling him a thief loudly so everyone could hear, before leading him to the prison. He hadn’t stolen the bread, but the guards did not care for his protests. Eating stolen goods made him no better than the one who had stolen them in the first place.

Even though he couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than losing control in public, Joonmyun couldn’t help the silent tears sliding down his cheeks. He hadn’t wanted to do anything but eat. He thought the guards should try starving for four days and see how they’d react when someone dropped a bread roll near them. It didn’t matter who it belonged to. He had eaten it.

Familiar faces, people he had known for years, sneered at him and shut their doors as the guards dragged him through the wide, bustling cobblestone streets. The walk through the village was an unusual one, because Joonmyun was looking at it with eyes that suggested it was the last time he’d see it. He didn’t know what they’d do with him once they got him to the prison but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. They might chop his hands off, or kill him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew they’d been looking for any opportunity to get rid of him. If he was a criminal, they would lose all of their hang-ups about him being underage. It wouldn’t matter anymore.

Thirrum was a loud, busy town. The ground was cobblestone because the only vehicles were horses and carriages, though Joonmyun knew that some of the other towns in Pathalff had cars and bicycles. He even knew that somewhere on the far side of the country, where the Capital city Overm was, they had things called aeroplanes that could fly. Joonmyun had never seen one, only ever drawings, and they looked monstrous. He never wanted to fly in something that size in the air. If he had to fly, he’d rather it be strapped to the back of one of the gryphons bred for the purpose of ferrying people from one side of Pathalff to the other.

Not that he would ever get to fly, now.

The guards took him to the prison, which was a small, but somehow still imposing, granite building. There were no fences surrounding it to keep people out, or others in, but Joonmyun had been told there were iron bars on the windows of the back prison cells. He had never seen them himself, though. But he was about to.

He was marched through the building to the back area where the cells were and then thrown into a high-walled cell, leg scraping across the floor, scratches on the back of his calves. The door, a metal, windowless affair, slammed shut, locking Joonmyun into darkness. The inner walls were open brick but smoothed down, possibly to give inmates no way of committing suicide, if they had such thoughts. There was a bed, a thin sheet on a hard surface and no pillow, and a bucket in the corner of the room which already smelt foul. The bars on the window were thick and impossible to move, when he tried shaking them, and he knew instantly that even if he shot all the water in his body at them, they wouldn’t corrode fast enough to get him out of there in time. He had heard that granite was porous and not waterproof, but he didn’t really know what he could do with that knowledge except possibly drown the criminal in the next cell over. He suddenly wished his power stretched to being able to actually turn into water. That would be a useful power to have, in this situation.

He sank onto the hard and unforgiving bed and dropped his head into his hands. He’d stopped crying on the walk there, but he almost started again as he sat. There was nobody to hear him. The cell walls were thick and nobody would hear his screams, but even so he didn’t want to. The mere idea made him shudder. He didn’t want to be so weak.

Instead, he focused on other things. He thought about his house, how it’d be repossessed after he was gone, how it was possible that it had already been taken. His clothing could already be on the flea market. It wouldn’t surprise him—the town was full of nosy people who could spread the word around quickly.

“I always knew he was a bad one,” the women of the city would say.

“Deserves his hands chopped off,” the men would say.

Joonmyun quite liked his hands. He dropped them to his lap and clenched them tightly. He had nice hands, he thought. The skin wasn’t too leathery from work, and they were long-fingered and precise. He had learnt how to hold them steadily as he threaded needles with cotton (now he made do with threads from old and ruined shirts), as he plucked at his late mother’s harp (now long sold), as he poured salt (now a luxury he couldn’t afford) into his rice. He knew he’d have made a good apprentice to someone. He was punctual, careful, and peaceable.

But now those days were long gone, and he was going to miss his hands, or his head, or whatever they were going to do with him. It wouldn’t be pretty.

He sat there, miserable, for what seemed like forever. He had no timepiece and the sun had not seemed to move in the sky, so he could not tell how much time had passed by, when the boy popped into his room.

“You,” the boy said, standing there in the middle of the room, just as dirty as he had been before, but trembling far less. Joonmyun nearly leapt out of his seat when he appeared, but somehow managed to compose himself. The shock, however, he could not keep off his face.

“You’re the boy from the market,” Joonmyun said with surprise clear in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I realised I’d got you arrested,” the boy said. “You were really hungry, weren’t you?” Joonmyun nodded.

“I hadn’t eaten for some time.” He nearly said his thanks, but then remembered the other boy was the reason he was in prison in the first place, and he bit his tongue.

“You’re the boy they’re talking about, the bad omen, the cursed one?” the boy asked. “I’m not sure why you’re bad luck, but they want to chop your head off and stick it on some spikes to ‘set an example’.”

Joonmyun shuddered. It was worse than he had thought. He liked his head, and he liked being alive, even if he hadn’t really had much of a life recently. “I don’t want to die,” he choked out, before he realised he was crying again, large, gulping hiccoughs emitting from his throat. “There’s so much I haven’t done.”

“That’s why I’m here,” the boy said, and he took hold of Joonmyun by the shoulder and shook him, possibly to try to calm him down. “I found this little house on Wovel Street that’s empty, and it didn’t look like anyone was coming back. I’ll take you there.”

“But how?” Joonmyun asked through his tears, and then hiccoughed again. “We’ll be seen.”

“How do you think I got in here?” the boy asked and rolled his eyes. “You’re not clever at all, are you?” He said it in such a way that Joonmyun didn’t feel offended at all. He wasn’t wrong. “I can teleport. I’m cursed, like you.”

Rather than wonder about this, instead, Joonmyun asked him, cogs whirring, “Why didn’t you teleport from the market?” If the boy wasn’t lying (though why he would be, Joonmyun didn’t know—why would you want to admit to being cursed?), if he had teleported away, Joonmyun wouldn’t be in trouble and wouldn’t be panicking about losing his head.

“I don’t like people knowing about my powers,” the boy said. This was understandable. Who would want a cursed boy around? Then he added, “Steady. Hold onto me.”

Joonmyun, a little unsurely, gripped at the bottom of the boy’s filthy tunic, feeling like there were bugs crawling all over him. He tried not to shudder, not to let the boy know he was disgusted.

The next moment, the world seemed to become fuzzy and insubstantial, and, for a moment, Joonmyun and the boy filtered out of existence.

They reappeared in Joonmyun’s sparse kitchen (of course it would be his kitchen, Joonmyun thought—who else would not be expected to come back?), which was not at all as he’d left it as there was, in fact, food on the table. To be precise, there were two loaves of bread, one bread roll, three apples, an entire bunch of grapes, and even, somehow, four pieces of cured meat and a lump of hard cheese.

“How on earth did you manage to get all of this?” Joonmyun asked, eyes wide as he took in all the food.

“I did a return trip when they were chasing me,” the boy said, and then shook his head. “You need to get out of the village. They will kill you on sight. I can take you to the plains outside the village but no further. You need to go on alone.”

“But it’s dangerous out there!” Joonmyun said. “I don’t know how to fight. The monsters will kill me.”

“You’ll learn quickly,” the boy said. “There’s nothing I can do. I’ll distract the guards. Make a bundle of clothes from the bedroom and take this food. I can’t give you water but I don’t suppose you need me for that.” He laughed a little dryly.

Joonmyun wasted no time. He ran into his bedroom and took the thin blanket from the bed. It’d seem large but it’d keep him warm at night, and it would make a nice parcel to wrap around some clothes.

He took some of his warmest clothes and some of his lightest, not knowing the weather in the rest of Pathalff, and several pairs of underwear and pyjamas, which were luxuries he had held onto. He had no personal possessions otherwise, except for one photograph of himself with his parents, which he pulled out from under his pillow and tucked into one of his pockets. Then he took the bundle into the kitchen and wrapped all the food up in his clothes, adding a wooden cup, before attaching the bundle to a wooden mop handle he had in the cupboard. He used rags and string to secure the bundle and tested the weight, adding more to strengthen it.

Once he was done, he said his goodbyes to the house he had grown up in, knowing he could never return, and turned towards the boy. “I’m ready,” he said.

The boy took his arm and again they slipped out of existence for a moment.

They reappeared on the outer side of the moat surrounding the entrance to Thirrum and out of the sight of the guards.

“Go,” the boy hissed, and pointed North-East. “Go towards Mavia; you’ll be safer there. Ask for Sehun.”

“What’s your name?” Joonmyun asked, as the boy began to leave, heading back towards Thirrum.

“Jongin, but most people call me Kai,” the boy told him, looking behind him, over his shoulder, at Joonmyun.

Joonmyun wasn’t most people. “Thank you, Jongin, for everything,” he told him, gratefulness swarming in his heart for the boy who had rescued him. “I’m Joonmyun.”

“I know,” Jongin said, and then he took off, running towards the bridge, leaving Joonmyun in the swirling plains dust behind him, feeling utterly confused.

It was a few minutes later that Joonmyun realised maybe he should have offered Jongin a drink or a bath before they left, though he knew he should technically be in a hurry.

Joonmyun knew one important thing. To get to Mavia and find Sehun, whoever he was, he had to cross the plains, and they wouldn’t be very easy. Joonmyun had heard of the vicious beasts that lived on them, which would explain why Thirrum very rarely had visitors. The plains, named Zyfria, weren’t the worst part of Pathalff by a long way, but they were certainly not the best, and their monsters could savage humans.

Needless to say, Joonmyun, who had never fought a human let alone a monster, was petrified of encountering anything. He had no idea how to use his powers offensively, and he had brought along nothing that could be used as a weapon except his shoes and the mop stick, and he didn’t want to lose either of those. Shoes were expensive, and the fact he had managed to keep his along with the blanket, the underwear, the photograph, showed the social standing he had once had in Thirrum.

He began to cross the plains steadily, picking his way around holes in the ground whilst using the mop stick as a walking stick. He had no map, no compass, with which to tell the direction. All he had was the sun glinting and Jongin’s pointing finger.

He wondered briefly, after he had travelled until the sun started lowering in the sky, sweat prickling across his back uncomfortably, if Jongin had pointed him the wrong way, expecting him to die in the heat. He hadn’t yet met any monsters, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any, and if he wasn’t going in a straight line, he could end up anywhere.

The idea that he could die out in the plains caused him to stop and look behind him, back over the expanse of flat, green land stretching for miles, the occasional hole marring the surface of the ground. He didn’t know what they were for, but they varied in size, some of them massive, Joonmyun having to pick his way around them carefully, and some small enough for him to jump over.

In the distance, he could just barely see the edge of the gate at the entrance of the village, surrounded by the moat. It had taken him a long time to understand why a village on the edge of the country even had gates at its entrance, let alone a moat. The children were told it was to give the visitors a welcoming, but Joonmyun, at seventeen, knew better. It was to keep their citizens in and unwanted guests out, because they’d raise the bridge to stop people leaving. It was almost impossible to leave from the gates without a pass, and then the bridge had to be dropped so people could leave. Joonmyun never would have got out even before he’d been arrested. They didn’t want people like him getting out even if he was a curse to their city.

And now he’d got out, they probably wouldn’t want him going far.

Joonmyun, at this thought, sped up. Even though Thirrum didn’t have fancy technology, a horse was faster than a person walking, particularly a person with legs as short as Joonmyun’s. If they wanted to find him, they would. They’d catch up to him. The worst part was there was nowhere to hide, not including the holes in the ground. He had nothing to hide under or behind, so the quicker he was at Mavia, the better.

He all but ran across the grass, grateful for his shoes. He couldn’t imagine running in his bare feet. He avoided holes and kept going, until suddenly he realised why there were holes in the ground.

His running must have stimulated the ground, because suddenly various creatures exploded from the holes. There were giant, blue, snake-like creatures, and things that looked like enormous salamanders, and one, lone, blue mole-like thing out of one of the small holes.

One snake picked him as its opponent, and it loomed in closely and tried to bite Joonmyun’s shoulder. He leaped out of the way and almost hit a salamander, which breathed fire at him. He threw his hands out, shooting water every which way, some attacks hitting creatures and winding them, and some knocking them back into their holes. Some attacks widely missed the monsters, instead wetting the grass, water dripping into the holes.

When most of the monsters were down, Joonmyun took off running again. He knew that running would draw the attention of more monsters, but if he simply kept running, he thought he’d be able to skirt around them and get out of harm’s way. He could simply keep going.

And so he ran, and ran, until, when he looked behind him, he could no longer see Thirrum.

There was a great expanse of empty land before him, and the sun was setting quicker. There was no way he’d get to Mavia before dark set in. And when it grew darker, it grew cold on the plains, almost icing over. His blanket and all the clothes he had in his possession couldn’t protect him from the cold, nor from all the night predators. It was a lost cause, and he was going to die out there.

He dropped to his knees, resting on the grass. If he didn’t die there, it’d be at the hands of people he’d grown up with, people he knew. They would let his flesh rot at the gate of Thirrum, warning away travellers and showing what they did to people they didn’t like.

At least if he died out there, in the plains, he’d become food for the grass and monsters. Maybe one of them ate bones. He wouldn’t be remembered, but maybe that would be better. And he probably wouldn’t notice it. His body would cool down until it stopped working.

Though death by a guillotine would be quick, he’d still be anticipating it. And hadn’t he been waiting to die, all these months? He didn’t want to die, but maybe it was God’s will. He’d thought he wasn’t going to die today, but maybe he was, just not at the hands of man.

Joonmyun slumped further onto the grass and rolled over so that he was staring at the sky, at the sun sliding under the horizon. As he lay there, undisturbed, the darkness came, sweeping over the ground, until it became so dark he couldn’t see anything, and the cold came with it, settling into Joonmyun’s bones. He shivered, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him of the little food he had eaten. He reached into the bundle he had made and pulled out a bread roll, eating it despite the darkness. The bread lay leaden in his stomach and he pulled out the cup, shutting his eyes and attempting to use his senses to pour water into the cup.

He missed the edge and water spilled over, dripping to the ground. He drank from the cup anyway, not realising how thirsty he had been. He refilled the cup and drank again, before returning the cup to the bag, unable to dry it, and flopped backwards onto the grass. He didn’t bother to wrap the blanket around him. He was going to die, so he should welcome it with a last meal. There was a growing calmness in his heart. Maybe this was the way it was meant to be.

And then the stars came out, little sparkles of light in the distance, but enough to lighten Joonmyun’s surroundings, showing him that there were no monsters about the place. In fact, nothing was moving. The only sound Joonmyun could hear was his breathing.

Maybe it would be safe to sleep.

It was as he thought this that he began to doze, and he was nearly asleep when he heard a familiar voice, as if down a tunnel.

“Do you _want_ to die?” it asked, and then a hand grabbed Joonmyun’s shoulder and they left existence.


	2. Level One

When Joonmyun woke up, his first thought was that he must be in heaven, because he couldn’t imagine hell having such soft beds.

He sat up in the bed. There was a thick duvet on the bed, covered in blue and flowers, and two pillows behind him. Joonmyun hadn’t seen a pillow in months, let alone felt one. The mattress beneath him was soft but firm and Joonmyun nearly reclined once more to feel it against his spine.

He looked down at himself. He’d been undressed at some point, and, rather than the white nightgown he’d expect to be in if he were dead, he was dressed in a baggy purple tunic and overlong white trousers that were bunched up, one leg about his knee and the other at his ankle.

Whose bedroom was he in, he wondered, and whose clothes was he wearing? What fortune had he encountered to give him such good treatment?

The room he was in was decently sized, maybe a little bigger than his room back home, and decidedly masculine, despite the covers on the bed. There was a set of wooden drawers against one wall, the wood unstained, and few personal effects. There was a pad of paper on the top of the drawers, a quill and inkpot stood next to it. There was also what he recognised as a sink in the edge of the room, embedded into the wall, made of what appeared to be ceramic, though to Joonmyun a sink was made of metal and ceramics were only for the rich. Resting on the surface of the sink was a large-toothed comb and a bar of soap. Above the sink was a mirror, something Joonmyun hadn’t seen for many, many years.

Although Joonmyun didn’t need to wash, the idea of running water thrilled him and he all but ran to the sink, tripping over the ends of the trousers he was wearing. He soaped his hands with all the glee of a homeless man and ran the soap over his face, digging his fingers into the cracks next to his nose. He glanced up into the mirror and froze.

Joonmyun had seen his reflection in bowls of water, so he had thought he’d had a good idea of what he looked like, but he was unprepared for what lay before him. Dirt creased his cheeks despite the soap and the washing he gave himself, and he had spots littering his chin and forehead, from stress and oily skin. His hair was long, reaching past his shoulders, and looked lank and greasy even though he had washed it just the previous day.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the translucent shade of his skin, the gauntness in his face, the way his cheekbones and jawline jutted. His eyes were sunken into his head and dark circles surrounded them. He looked like a starved man, which was not an unfair description of him.

Joonmyun stumbled backwards from the mirror before tearing his eyes away. He couldn’t bear to look. He couldn’t bear to see himself anymore.

Just then, the door to the bedroom banged open, nearly hitting the drawers behind it. The boy in the doorway caught the door quickly, wincing, and then he turned to Joonmyun.

“Ah, good morning!” he said, and he smiled, eyes warm and smile toothy.

He was tall but clearly young, younger than Joonmyun by a few years, with tanned skin and dark, clean hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and he was dressed in a blue tunic that was belted at the waist and a pair of brown trousers.

Joonmyun didn’t recognise him at all. “Um, where am I?” he asked, a little shakily.

“You’re in my house, in Mavia,” the boy said. “I rescued you from the plains. I don’t know why you wanted to get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t,” Joonmyun replied, sounding put-out. “I didn’t know where I was going and it grew dark too quickly.”

The boy sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I didn’t really give you much time to get to Mavia when I sent you off.”

And there was a chill in Joonmyun’s bones. It couldn’t be. “Jongin?” he asked, eyes widening. That person was Jongin? Jongin who had told him he couldn’t help him anymore?

Jongin raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re slow,” he said. “Then again, I suppose I should let you off. You nearly died, after all.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at Joonmyun. “Roll your trousers up and follow me.”

Joonmyun bent down as he was told, and rolled the trousers up until they were around his calves, before hurrying after Jongin.

He was surprised to see Jongin looking clean, and in normal clothes and with the lack of mud, he could see how healthy he was. Unlike Joonmyun, Jongin clearly had several meals a day, and probably had a job. On a second glance, Joonmyun could see muscles rippling in Jongin’s arms.

Joonmyun had thought Jongin was homeless, poor. He felt like he’d been lied to. He had nearly died because this boy had…had what? He had stolen food from a market seller. But why? If he wasn’t short on money or on food, why had he? If he hadn’t, Joonmyun wouldn’t have got into trouble.

At the same time, Joonmyun knew that if Jongin hadn’t come when he had, Joonmyun’s execution would have only been delayed. Something else would have happened, and maybe Jongin would not have been able to rescue him then. And then he really would have died.

Jongin led him down a clean, white corridor, various closed doors on each side of the passage, and then down a flight of stairs. The stairs led to an entranceway that wasn’t large but seemed it because of the tall ceilings. The door to the front of the house was buttercup yellow, and seeing such a colour was a brief shock to Joonmyun, who had never seen paint that colour.

“Did you rub buttercups over that door?” he asked, stopping on the stair to stare at it.

“No, but that’s where Umma got the inspiration from,” Jongin replied, and then reached behind him to grab Joonmyun’s wrist. He tugged Joonmyun down the final few stairs and then through a door in the hallway which led into a dining room.

The room was gold and pale orange; warm tones that made Joonmyun feel relaxed and peaceful. Joonmyun had never been anywhere that made him feel that way. He felt the edge of a smile grow on his face. He hadn’t smiled in years.

There was a table in the middle of the room. It was laden down with food of all sorts. Bananas, melon, apples, oatmeal, rice porridge, bread rolls, and two metal dishes in the centre of the table containing fried eggs and bacon rashers. There were also two glass jugs of orange juice. Joonmyun salivated at the sight and smell of all the food.

Seated at the table already was a couple who looked a few years older than Joonmyun, the man’s skin burnt dark from the sun, and the woman’s skin smooth and clear, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. There was also, in a small, wooden high-chair, a tiny little girl, hair pulled up into multiple tiny buns. She had tanned skin as well. The little girl was picking up pieces of melon from a bowl in front of her and eating them messily, the woman at the table wiping around her mouth.

Jongin headed over to sit in one of the seats at the table, but Joonmyun didn’t follow him, instead continuing to look around.

A moment later, another girl burst into the room from the door behind him, giggling. She ran over to the table and all but slid into the chair next to the high chair. “Ooh, breakfast!” she almost squealed. She was younger than the other woman at the table but not by much; she was maybe a year older than Joonmyun.

A middle-aged woman entered the room from another door, carrying a plate of toast, which she rested on the table. “Dig in, everyone,” she said, and then turned to Joonmyun who was still hovering by the door. “Come and sit down and help yourself, dear.”

Joonmyun nervously crossed to the table and perched on the edge of the chair next to Jongin, who instantly put three rashers of bacon on Joonmyun’s plate and then glopped oatmeal into a bowl, which he shoved into Joonmyun’s hands. Joonmyun felt a little embarrassed, but began to eat silently, as neatly as he was able. He tried desperately not to stuff food into his mouth like the small child was doing, but it was hard. The more he ate the hungrier he seemed to get.

“Slow down, Hyung, you’ll get a stomach ache,” Jongin hissed to him. Joonmyun twitched, but tried to slow down obediently. It was still hard.

“So, Jongin, care to introduce your friend to us?” the middle-aged woman said, raising an eyebrow at Jongin.

Jongin smiled through part of an egg, and then swallowed. “Everyone, this is Joonmyun, Joonmyun, this is everyone.”

The woman raised her other eyebrow at Jongin, who sighed.

“This is my Umma,” Jongin introduced, “my older sisters Jinhee,” the younger sister smiled and waved, “and Jinkyung,” the older sister nodded her head at him, “and Jinkyung-noona’s husband Minjoon-hyung and their daughter Juri.” Minjoon smiled at him, and the baby ignored him, finishing off her fruit instead.

Joonmyun bowed at the table. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said politely.

“Where are you from, Joonmyun?” Jinhee asked.

“Thirrum, Jinhee-sshi,” Joonmyun replied, and her eyes widened.

“But how did you leave?” she asked.

“I got him out,” Jongin said, “before something bad happened.”

Jongin’s mother smiled softly. “Good thing you did,” she said, and turned to Joonmyun. “Eat more, dear. You look like you need it.”

Joonmyun nodded. He hadn’t even seen so much food before, let alone been allowed to eat it. He took some melon from the table, and Jongin dumped toast onto his plate. The more food Jongin gave him, all without looking at him, the more touched Joonmyun was by the kindness the younger boy was showing him.

Once he had finished eating, the food settling warmly in his stomach alongside the several glasses of orange juice he’d consumed, Jongin’s mother told Jongin to take him to the wet-room and to show him how the shower worked.

They headed back up the stairs and along to a different door in the corridor, which led into a tiny blue tiled room. The entire room apart from the door and the ceiling was tiled.

“This is a wet-room,” Jongin said. “Leave your clothes outside the door once you’ve got undressed. The shower turns on like this.” He indicated a handle in the wall and showed how to turn it on. “Use the soaps on the floor,” he added, pointing at the ground, where there were little jars of various things like soap and lemon juice. “I’ll put something on the bed for you, and I’ll be downstairs when you’re done,” he said, and then he left Joonmyun in the strange, tiled room.

Joonmyun removed the clothes he was wearing; only then realising whoever had undressed him had taken his underwear, too, and dropped them, as Jongin had said to, outside the door of the room. There was a knob under the door that looked a bit like the lock on the inside of his front door, so he turned it, and there was a locking noise.

He headed over to the shower and turned it on. It was freezing, iced water pounding down on his shoulders. He could only bear it for a few seconds before he pulled out from underneath it and glared at the hose. He didn’t want to leave the room wet so he kept watching the water until he nervously placed a hand under the stream and realised it was warmer, so he slipped back under it.

The water against his shoulders and soap clearing his skin made him realise just how sore and stiff his body was, despite his good rest. There were bruises he had never noticed before, and new ones coming up from the guards and monsters the day before. Had it only been a day? It felt like it had been weeks. It felt like his whole life had changed.

It had. He was a criminal, a fugitive, hiding away in another criminal’s house.

Once he’d finished showering, he turned the water off and headed, dripping, over to the door. When he opened it, he discovered the clothes he’d been wearing had been removed, but that an enormous fluffy white towel had replaced it. Joonmyun lifted the towel, clenching his fingers in the softness for a few moments, before wrapping it around his entire body and standing there for a few moments until it started to get wet, when he stepped back into the wet-room and began to dry himself.

He then padded down the corridor, the towel wrapped around him, until he got to Jongin’s bedroom. Lying across the bed was another tunic, this one rust-coloured, with a leather belt around it, and dark brown trousers, like the ones Jongin was wearing, lying next to it. There was also one of Joonmyun’s ratty pairs of underwear with stitched patches covering holes, most of which Joonmyun was sure he hadn’t sewn on.

He got dressed quickly, rolling up the bottoms of the trousers so they wouldn’t trail along the ground, and padded downstairs. There was nobody in the dining room, so Joonmyun continued around the house, opening doors.

He eventually found his way to the kitchen, which was clean and smart and had a door made entirely of glass at the back of it, looking out onto a flowery garden. Jongin was there, sitting on a stool with his legs crossed and a book in his hand.

Joonmyun crossed the room to the door and opened it, walking out into the garden. He scrunched his toes in the grass. “Hi,” he said.

Jongin looked up from his book and he smiled. “Hi, Hyung. What do you think of the house?”

“It’s amazing,” Joonmyun said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s so much here we don’t have in Thirrum.”

Jongin smiled. “I suppose it is pretty different from Thirrum, and you haven’t even been outside my house yet. I think you’d like Mavia. I hope you’ll like it.”

Joonmyun nodded, staring across the grass at the flowers, butterflies fluttering and bees buzzing around them. There was a swing at the end of the garden where Jinkyung was pushing Juri, her happy giggles filling the garden.

“Who’s Sehun?” Joonmyun asked as the thought struck him. Jongin had sent him to find someone called Sehun. He hadn’t met him yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Jongin said with a smile. “He lives next door. If I hadn’t got to you, I’d have wanted you to go to him and not here. But I found you, so it’s okay that you’re here.”

Joonmyun nodded, and then started up again. “You were really…” He faltered, trying to find the words.

Jongin smiled up at him. “Do you want to know why I was in the rags?”

Joonmyun nodded.

“Well,” Jongin said, slowly, “it’s mostly an experiment to see how much food I can get. Rags are usually more inconspicuous than good clothes. And with the dirt on my face, nobody recognises me.” He said it lightly, laughing as he spoke.

Joonmyun felt a chill run down his spine. It was like it was a game to Jongin. It had been Joonmyun’s reality; eating once a week with money he’d found on the ground, basically stolen, fearing that he’d have to resort to stealing food to stay alive. And Jongin, who had money, had been making light of that. An experiment. Joonmyun’s situation was just a joke to him.

Angry tears prickled behind his eyes and he spun away from Jongin, all but running back into the house. He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong in the fancy house with its fancy showers and its soft beds and mountain of food. He was a poor orphan who belonged back in his own house without its running water and without any heating, and where people kept burgling him, and where he had a death sentence.

Once inside, he started running, weaving through the house. Burning hot tears streamed down his face, and he made no move to dash them away. Crying was making him feel better.

He reached the entranceway and discovered his shoes had been placed by the front door with the rest of the shoes of the house. Joonmyun jabbed his feet into them, not caring if he was stretching the leather in a way it wasn’t supposed to be stretched. He just needed to get out of there and away, somewhere. Away from Jongin who was laughing at him, away from his family who probably thought he wasn’t worth anything.

He grabbed the door handle and swung it open, to the surprised face of a young boy, younger than Jongin and nearly as tall, who had stretched his hand up to rap on the knocker. He had light brown hair kept short and was wearing a light blue cropped tunic and dark blue trousers. On his feet was a pair of black, clunky sandals.

“Hi,” the boy said, looking at Joonmyun in a surprised and somewhat confused way. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Joonmyun said, and he stepped around the boy, sitting on the doorstep and pulling his shoes on properly.

“Are you staying here?” the boy asked. “I’m Sehun. I haven’t seen you before.”

“Just leaving,” Joonmyun replied, stood, and then walked away without another glance at Sehun, not caring if he was being rude or not. He just needed to get away from them, away from the house, away from the rich kids and their toys.

Joonmyun didn’t know where he was going, but he moved through the town like a man possessed, a man on a mission. Even if he didn’t know where he was going, something knew where he should go.

The town was pretty, flowers hanging in baskets beside every doorway, and window boxes of herbs or flower-buds at every window ledge. The buildings were different from those in Thirrum. These were on average much larger, and made of stone blocks as opposed to granite. They were painted white and their front doors were varying shades of the rainbow. Joonmyun even spotted a hot pink door, although he could not understand what had been squeezed to get such a colour. Raspberries?

He found himself stopping by a church, a large, elegant thing that had beautiful stained glass in the windows of the outside. He opened the door and went inside, crossing to a pew. He sat and rested for a few moments, calming his breathing and stopping his tears.

He looked up when he was sure he had stopped crying. The church was deceptively larger on the inside and stunning, stained glass showing off the story of the Lord. Joonmyun had never been particularly religious once his parents had died, and then—well, he preferred not to think of him. Indeed, it had been over a year since he’d last thought of him. Joonmyun had cut him out of his life just as Joonhyuk had cut him out of his. Joonhyuk probably had a family now. Not that Joonmyun cared.

But sitting in the church, Joonmyun felt peaceful. He felt like this was where he needed to be.

And then he spotted an old man sitting at the front. He used a cane to stand and he turned to Joonmyun, and then he waved, or maybe beckoned.

Joonmyun knew, deep in his soul, in his heart, that the old man was the reason he had gone to the church. He crossed the room in quick strides, and bowed once he reached the man.

“Excellent,” the man said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come. You are Joonmyun, the Water Cursed?”

Joonmyun nodded his head. He didn’t ask how the man knew his name. It didn’t matter.

“You are in danger,” the old man said. “The guards from Thirrum are on their way here. They will be here within two days. You need to leave, and quickly. You are too important, Joonmyun, to die. You were not cursed by water but chosen, and you need to live. You need to survive. There is something coming.”

“What? What’s coming?” Joonmyun asked, eyes wide, voice panicked.

“I do not know. But I know you must gain companions. They will keep you safe, hide you. There are twelve of you. The more companions you have, the safer you will be.”

Joonmyun’s eyes widened even more. “Companions?” he asked.

“Yes. There are two in this city, you know them. Everyone else you must find, across Pathalff. You must travel. It may take you some time, but you must go. Hurry, Joonmyun. The guards of Thirrum are not simple guards, just as the people of Thirrum are not as they seem. They know you are special. They will rest at nothing until you are destroyed, and you must not let them. They must not get to you or your companions.”

“But how will I know them?” Joonmyun asked softly, brows furrowed, eyes filled with confusion, but understanding. Suddenly everything odd about his village made more sense. Suddenly their vendetta against him seemed to not be mindless. Suddenly even his power made sense.

“You will know them by their psychic power marks, which you will see on their wrist here,” the old, wise man, said, and he reached over and took Joonmyun’s left wrist, thumb carefully placed against the centre. A pain burnt through Joonmyun’s wrist and he hissed before ripping his arm out of the old man’s grip. Dimly, through the pain, Joonmyun heard the old man say, “You are the leader of the twelve. You are Suho.”

Across Pathalff, eleven other voices hissed in synchronised pain.


	3. Level Three

Joonmyun walked slowly back to Jongin’s house. This time he did not look at his surroundings. This time he didn’t pay attention to anything except his left wrist.

An intricate water droplet, outlined in black, rested perfectly on his wrist, as if tattooed there. It no longer hurt, and when Joonmyun ran his thumb across it, he could feel that it wasn’t raised like a tattoo would have been. All Joonmyun could feel was the smooth, thin skin of his wrist.

He tried rubbing at the mark, to see if it was ink, and the man’s finger had been like a stamp, but to no avail. Even spitting onto his wrist did nothing. He couldn’t clear the mark away. It was permanent.

Joonmyun worried, because with his mark on show, it would be easier for the enemy to spot him.

Joonmyun stopped rubbing at his wrist and thought about what the old man had said. He had said there were two like Joonmyun in the city, and Joonmyun wasn’t stupid. He knew one had to be Jongin. Jongin, who had rescued him, Jongin, who had welcomed him into his home, Jongin, who had mercilessly mocked his lifestyle and his circumstances.

Joonmyun felt like he had no choice. He didn’t want to go back to Jongin, but without him he’d never be safe. And Jongin had saved him twice. He might willingly protect him from what else was to come.

Or he might not.

Sometime during his thinking, Joonmyun ended up at Jongin’s house, although the only reason he recognised it was because of the yellow door. He went up to the door and used the knocker, thumping it against the wood three times.

The door was all but flung open, Jongin on the other side, looking impatient and almost a little scared. When he saw it was Joonmyun, he reached over and took Joonmyun’s hand, a little like a scared child. “Hyung! I thought you’d gone!” he cried. “I’m sorry about what I said; I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” Joonmyun said, although it wasn’t really, because Jongin seemed really sincere. He seemed to have been really worried.

But Joonmyun wasn’t entirely focused on that. Joonmyun suddenly had to know. He reached out and lifted Jongin’s left wrist with his empty hand, turning the wrist over.

On his wrist was an intricate tattooed triangle.

Joonmyun stood, staring slightly dumbly at it. He hadn’t known what he was going to do once he knew for sure.

“I don’t know what that is,” Jongin said, looking at the shape. “Me and Sehun were just in the garden and then _bang_ it was there on both our wrists. Hurt like crazy.”

“Sehun, too?” Joonmyun heard himself say dimly, still staring at the shape.

“Yeah, but his is like a whirlwind or something? Sehun has air control,” Jongin said. “I still don’t know what it is, or why we have them all of a sudden.”

“I do,” Joonmyun said, looking up at him, and turning his wrist over so Jongin could see the water tattoo. “Well, I know why we have them at least.”

Jongin opened his eyes wide in surprise, and then turned back into the house, leading Joonmyun in by their still-connected hands. He didn’t even give Joonmyun time to remove his shoes, instead leading him into a room with two chairs like soft and cushioned benches, and a smaller version of the same chair. The cushions were covered in a red flower pattern.

Sehun was sitting on one of the cushioned benches. He looked up when he heard them enter. “He came back!” he said, and gave a crooked smile. Joonmyun could tell he wasn’t used to smiling or showing his teeth. Covering his teeth was a metal bar.

“What’s that?” Joonmyun asked, pointing at his teeth. He felt incredibly confused and out of place in Mavia.

“It’s a retainer,” Sehun said. “It fixes your teeth, makes them straight, along with braces.” He peered a little closer at Joonmyun. “You could use one. Do they not have dentists in Thirrum?”

“They don’t have _anything_ in Thirrum,” Jongin answered for Joonmyun, who felt both offended and confused all at once. “It’s like they’re from the Middle Ages or something.”

“Well I know we’re not as advanced as Overm,” Sehun said, tapping a fingernail against his upper teeth so an unpleasant knocking noise could be heard across the room. Joonmyun winced. “I mean, we don’t have jeans or trainers or anything. But God, I don’t think I could live in Thirrum. Don’t you even have running water?”

“We have metal sinks and taps and gas cookers,” Joonmyun replied, almost snippily. “We’re not that underdeveloped.”

Both younger boys blinked at him, and then chorused, “Yes, you are.”

Joonmyun scrunched his nose up and grumpily dropped down onto the chair opposite Sehun. Jongin sat next to him. He still hadn’t let go of Joonmyun’s hand. Joonmyun didn’t understand Jongin’s attachment to it at all. Even though he liked his hands, and had spent several minutes analysing them the previous day, that didn’t mean he expected others to like them, or to hold onto them for minutes at a time. He just didn’t understand.

“Joonmyun-hyung says he knows why we’ve got the wrist tattoos,” Jongin said then, suddenly changing the topic.

Sehun inched closer on the chair. “Really?” he asked, and then turned to Joonmyun. “You really know?”

Joonmyun nodded, and then carefully began to explain what had happened.

“He marked us?” Jongin asked quietly. “Really?”

Joonmyun nodded again. “The twelve of us. Apparently it’s important that I don’t die. I don’t know why.”

“I do,” Sehun said. “Just as Thirrum has its legends, Mavia has its own. The water controller, the Water Cursed, is supposed to save Pathalff.”

Joonmyun’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Finally he found his voice. “To save it from what?” he asked quietly.

Sehun shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “The end of the world, I suppose. Maybe to stop it from getting overrun by monsters or something. I really don’t know. That bit’s not in the legends.”

Joonmyun looked down at his lap, at his loose hand that was playing with the fabric of the tunic. “I’m not special,” he said. “I don’t understand why you think it’s me, why the old man thought it’s me. Surely there are other people with water powers? There have been people with the water curse for generations in Thirrum.”

Jongin shook his head. “No, there haven’t.”

“Sure, there has,” Joonmyun said, and then began to quote, “‘Since that day, he cursed the village to have one born in every generation who would continue his curse—’” He broke off as Jongin shook his head more frantically.

“No,” he said. “There hasn’t been anyone registered with the water curse for over four hundred years. Trust me. Appa works in the Registry Office.”

“I didn’t register,” Joonmyun said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s like magic, you see. It knows when you’re born, even if your powers don’t manifest for years. Appa knew I’d have teleportation when I was born. And he knew there was a boy in Thirrum with the water power. We’ve been following the register for years.”

“But if I was the one, why did you let me grow up there?”

“We thought you’d be safe. No one expected Thirrum would turn against its own. We didn’t know about your legends, your rumours,” Sehun said. “And then Kai got you into trouble.” Jongin wrinkled his brow at Sehun, who shrugged. “It’s true, Jongin,” he said. “Our scheme to test your camouflage techniques got Joonmyun-sshi in trouble.” He turned to Joonmyun. “He told me what happened. You were right to run away when you did.”

Joonmyun nodded and smiled a little gratefully at Sehun. Now they were talking to him like this, now they were both acting like young teenagers, Joonmyun felt less angry with Jongin, and he grew to understand what had happened. They hadn’t meant any harm.

“Maybe it’s lucky he did,” Joonmyun said softly. “It sounds like Thirrum would have killed me soon, regardless of what I did. And then, if I really am the one in your legends, there would be no hope. Absolutely none.”

“You are,” Jongin said. “I’m _sure_ of it.”

Joonmyun smiled sheepishly at Jongin’s confidence. “Well, regardless of if I am or not, one thing is clear. You have both been chosen to help me, to hide me. I can’t stay here.” He bit his lip and looked away. “I know what I’m asking is something big. I’m asking you to leave your hometown, your homes, your _families_ —”

Sehun interrupted him. “Family,” he said, almost sharply. “I have none. And my home is nothing but an empty shell of what it used to be with my parents and Seyeol there. I will join you wherever you go. I have wanted a reason to leave for months.” He smiled once more, close-lipped, the smile sad on his face. Joonmyun wished for the day he’d see Sehun smile happily, openly, prettily. He hoped it’d happen and he could see it.

Jongin was the one who bit his lip and fidgeted. He turned away from Joonmyun. “I...” he sighed. “I love it here.” He looked down and Joonmyun squeezed his hand. This seemed to help, because Jongin then shot out, “I promised, to myself, to protect you from the moment I realised you were the Water Cursed. I promised to protect you when I took you from Thirrum and when I found you on the plains, before I knew it was my duty. This is my duty to you and to Pathalff.” He looked up at Joonmyun, and deeply into his eyes. Joonmyun felt like his soul was being searched. “I will come.”

“Even if you can never return?” Joonmyun asked softly.

Jongin winced, but he nodded. “I will. I pledge myself to you.”

“And I, too,” Sehun said, decisively, nodding.

As they said that, something burnt onto Joonmyun’s right wrist, inflaming his wrist with fire and pain. When the swelling and redness went down, Joonmyun could see a thin chain, like that of a bracelet, had tattooed itself around his wrist. On the chain were two symbols; Jongin’s triangle and Sehun’s whirlwind, Jongin’s on the outside of Joonmyun’s wrist and Sehun’s on the inside. Underneath Sehun’s whirlwind was an intricate, ornate “3”.

There were three of them. Level 3, if he were to put a name to it, like a game the children of Thirrum would play together. They would have talked about levels. They had three out of twelve of them. Only nine more to find, and the whole of Pathalff in which to find them. There were fourteen different parts, parishes, towns, of Pathalff, not including the plains of Zyfria, and he knew they had to search all of them. Even once all eleven of them had been found, once the twelve were together, he knew he couldn’t go home. He’d have to keep searching for something, for a way, for whatever. What else could he do? He could never go home. And he couldn’t stick in someone else’s town, not even a large one like Overm. He betted the guards had their ways of finding him.

Joonmyun was worried, worried beyond his usual worries. It sounded so easy; find these people with power symbols tattooed on their wrists. But he wasn’t stupid. It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack, particularly if anybody had similar tattoos. He couldn’t be sure his companions would all be honest, or that strangers would be.

Plus, Pathalff was enormous. It’d take him months to cross it, and he’d have to go slower the more companions he gained. He didn’t have months. Or he didn’t _think_ he had months.

The task seemed impossible. But Joonmyun had to. He had to survive. He couldn’t die, or Pathalff would be lost. Lost to whom, to what, he didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he’d find out, or when. He wasn’t sure if anyone knew.

But he’d have to find out to protect them all. He’d have to find out eventually, and although he dreaded finding them all, he welcomed the purpose and the friends he’d make in his companions, and he prayed that his journey would be fun as well as rewarding. He already knew it would be tiring and stressful, so if he could enjoy it, he’d be doing something right.

He turned to the two boys, smiled, and said, “Let’s get to work.”


	4. Level Three

It didn’t take them long to pack what they’d need. Jongin’s mother had been re-stitching Joonmyun’s clothing, doing a better job than Joonmyun himself, and she handed him the clothing with a soft, gentle smile. Tunics, baggy trousers, even his underwear. She gave them to him with something she called a “plastic sack”, tied to his original stick handle, the blanket rolled in there already.

Joonmyun had only thanked her, without telling her anything else, but she patted him on the cheek and said, “Good luck, Joonmyun-sshi,” before toddling away, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

Jongin packed silently, a dark expression on his face, and Joonmyun left him to pack in peace. Jongin would need time to get used to the idea. He had lived at home all his life, ignoring his brief stints of pretending to be homeless.

“You can probably teleport back home sometimes,” Joonmyun had conceded. Jongin had looked up at him with tears in his eyes and a shaky, hopeful, smile on his face. Joonmyun had gone next door to Sehun’s quickly, eager to get away.

Sehun was fully packed when Joonmyun got to his house, which was similar to Jongin’s but with a dark blue front door. When he opened the front door he was holding a plastic sack filled with clothes tied to a long stick; much like Joonmyun’s original bag. He’d gathered something called a “sleeping bag” as well, which was like a blanket that came in its own bag. He showed it to Joonmyun, unrolling it, and it was crude, a thickness of down, stitched over with coloured and patterned patches of cloth, and nothing else.

Sehun shrugged sheepishly at Joonmyun’s gaze. “In Overm they have ones with zips to wrap around you, and I think there are some with pillows attached in Keltsa because they like soft stuff there.”

Joonmyun nodded like he knew what zips were, and they headed back to Jongin’s.

Jongin was having a rather tearful goodbye with his family. They were asking him where he was going and he wasn’t telling them, just shaking his head and saying it’d be safer if they didn’t know. This wasn’t untrue, but Joonmyun also didn’t know where they were headed, and had told Jongin that. They had no idea who or what they were looking for.

“I’d go and see your Appa,” Jongin’s mother suggested to Jongin. She was the last to say goodbye, after Jinkyung led Juri away, and Jinhee ran off, dabbing at her eyes. She had made a scene, saying that Jongin was too young, too little, to see the world. She had demanded he stay behind, even if Sehun went, despite the fact that Jinkyung reminded her Sehun was even younger than Jongin. Jongin had his family, and Sehun had nothing.

But Jongin’s mother had interrupted them with a shake of her head. “This is something Jongin has to do,” she’d told them. “He has pledged his allegiance and he will help to save us all. And we are always here if he wants to visit. Let him go. Let him save us.”

“He’s fourteen!” Jinhee had protested. “Let the older children save us.”

“No, it must be Jongin,” his mother had said, a tone of finality in her voice, and that was that.

Now, she turned to them with a soft smile on her face, and continued with, “Your Appa’s lists may be useful.”

Jongin, who had been looking confused, suddenly widened his eyes, understanding clear in them. “Yes! That’s a great idea,” he said, and clapped his hands.

Joonmyun’s brow furrowed. Just as he turned to ask the question, Jongin spun away from his mother, grabbed Joonmyun’s hand and Sehun’s sleeve, and led them to the front door, a casual, “Bye, Umma!” over his shoulder, as if they were just going out.

They were not.

They collected their belongings from where they’d placed them beside the door and slipped their shoes on. Jongin, the strongest of the three of them, was also carrying a bag filled with food. It was mostly dry things that wouldn’t go off. Trail rations, dried meat, nuts and cheese. There were the apples that Joonmyun had brought and some fresh bread from breakfast, with the addition of several bananas.

Jongin, hands now full, was not able to drag Sehun and Joonmyun down the road, so he simply beckoned them to follow. When Joonmyun looked at Sehun in confusion, Sehun moved closer to him, close enough to whisper.

“We’re heading to his father’s workplace, the Registry Office,” he explained. “Remember the register?” He shook his head with a sigh. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of it. It’s perfect. Where else are we going to be able to find information about the other nine?”

It was a good idea, Joonmyun realised. If there was a list, maybe they could copy it. It would certainly help them on their way.

The Registry Office wasn’t far away from Jongin’s home. He led them through several winding side roads before taking them onto the Mavic High Street, as the sign announced it.

“Mavic Registry Office,” Jongin said, as they reached a tall redbrick building with a wide glass entrance. He said “Mavic” to rhyme with “havoc”, and not “mave”; the way Mavia was pronounced.

“There are others,” Sehun explained. “There’s one on Bell Street that I know of, and I know Harrif has one, and Overm, and I’m certain Nowal has one.”

Joonmyun had never even heard of Nowal, so he kept quiet. Keltsa had been one he vaguely knew of, and Harrif was the home of the dragons in the legends, but Nowal was something different. He didn’t know his geography well. He knew the number of parishes but not where they were, nor their names. He’d probably need to see a map.

Jongin led them inside the building and up several flights of stairs. The walls were a pale cream and completely bereft of any design, and Joonmyun felt slightly unsettled.

Jongin opened a door once they reached the second floor. “Appa,” he said, looking around the door. “Can we come in? We’d like to ask you for a favour.”

Joonmyun heard a gruff voice reply, “Sure, just don’t knock anything over and keep to yourselves. Also don’t touch the births.”

Jongin’s father was tall, Joonmyun saw, when they were let inside, and looked nothing like him. He was dressed in what was probably a smart work tunic, and his trousers seemed even baggier than Jongin’s. Joonmyun bowed when the man raised an eyebrow at him, and Jongin, bouncing on his toes, all but squealed, “He’s Joonmyun, Appa. Joonmyun.”

The man’s eyes widened and he put down the register he was holding, and the quill on the table fell out of the inkpot and onto the wooden table, leaving ink smears beside the paper. He ran over to Joonmyun, lifted his hands and began pumping them in greeting. “It’s an _honour_ ,” he said. “Anything I can do to assist you, I will.”

This was when Joonmyun realised Jongin’s father was the only one working there, in that little office. He wondered if there were others, or if they were just on a break. It seemed a little strange to him.

“We’d like to look at the powers register,” Joonmyun said, steeling his voice so it didn’t sound shaky.

“You’re welcome to,” Jongin’s father said, and he headed over to a wall of shelves and pulled out a volume. “What years?”

Joonmyun didn’t exactly know, but he was aware they were all teenagers (he didn’t know how he knew, but he _knew_ ). “1989 to 1995, please,” he said, and the man turned the pages to a section of the book, before handing it to Joonmyun.

There were columns and columns of Cursed. Joonmyun hadn’t realised how many there were. He had thought maybe the twelve of them were the only ones, but clearly not. As he scanned the lists, turning the pages, he was barraged with names, powers, ages, birthplaces. Lee Jinki, 1989, power of knowledge, Egra. Kim Minseok, 1990, ice control, Sefla. Seo Juhyun, 1991, telepath, Overm. Cho Jinho, 1992, can float, Nowal. Park Sunyoung, 1993, weather control, Effan. Oh Sehun, 1994, air control, Mavia. Seo Youngho, 1995, laser vision, Rovix. Joonmyun was also intrigued to see Kim Jongdae, 1992, lightning control, Thirrum. He distantly remembered a Jongdae, who had left when Joonmyun was younger, when Jongdae was just a young teenager, leaving the town and never returning. The village thought he was dead.

There were names, and names, and names. There were names he couldn’t pronounce, like “Huang Zitao” and “Henry Lau” and “Amber Liu”. There were powers he couldn’t begin to understand, like “technician control” and “can open curtains with his mind” and “zip repairer”. There were places he’d never heard of, like “Rovix” and “Effan” and “Dettish”.

“Can we copy this?” he asked quietly, and Jongin’s father bit his lip and shook his head.

“Well, you’re not supposed to. It’s illegal,” he said. “Imagine if it got stolen from you. You could cause some people a lot of grief and trouble. Some of them might even be killed. You can’t draw attention to other people’s powers, curses, if they don’t want you to.”

Joonmyun hadn’t thought of it like that. He hadn’t realised it could be such a problem.

Not having a copy of the register would slow them down substantially, would set them back to having to search the entirety of Pathalff without an idea of the names of the people they were searching for.

“It’s okay, though,” Jongin said, as Joonmyun sighed regretfully. “Even if we had the list, it doesn’t say where we find them, just where the Cursed were born. You left Thirrum. What if they also left? We’d search the entirety of their parish and never find them, because they wouldn’t be there.”

This did reassure Joonmyun a little, but at the same time it did nothing to reassure him. They were going to be searching a lot of land.

“We need something that can help direct us,” he grumbled, but Sehun and Jongin shrugged. They had nothing to tell him. “Right,” he added, spinning towards Jongin. “We need a map. A map of Pathalff, and preferably of all the parishes.”

“I have one of those,” Jongin’s father said from behind Joonmyun. Joonmyun nearly jumped at his voice, having almost forgotten he was still there.

Jongin’s father crossed to the chest of drawers underneath the shelves and searched through them until he emerged with a paper map. He handed it to Joonmyun.

It was folded over multiple times to make it small, but it was thick, and Joonmyun could tell it would be an enormous map when opened. “Thank you,” he said, bowing once more.

“I also have a compass,” Jongin’s father said, and tugged one out of the drawers. “You’ll always head in the right direction with that.” It was like he, like Jongin’s mother, knew. He knew they were leaving, and soon.

“Thanks, Appa,” Jongin said, and then, “We should go. I’ll see you.”

“One day you will,” his father agreed. “Have a good journey, boys.”

They left quietly, dragging their bags on sticks after them. Jongin seemed too dazed to lead them; maybe it was too stressful, leaving like that, but Joonmyun didn’t like to ask him to do anything, so Sehun led them out of the building, down the road, and off down side streets.

They walked for a long time. Mavia was a big town, Sehun explained. They were in the centre, so it would take them some time to reach the outskirts and leave Mavia, but they could do it by the time the sun fell.

“It’s cold out on the plains, though,” Joonmyun said, remembering how he could have died that night, shivering on the plains. “How will we survive the night?”

“Body warmth,” Sehun said, “and the plains are fairly nocturnal, I’ve heard. Plus, on the other side of Mavia are rockier areas. We may be able to find a cave to sleep in, and that should help us.”

Joonmyun didn’t think they had much chance of that, but he said nothing. Let Sehun dream. It wouldn’t hurt him to. And Joonmyun didn’t really have anything against sleeping together for body-heat. He hadn’t had anyone be close to him for years, ignoring Jongin when he held his hand. This would be something else he had missed out on.

Sehun led them all the way to the outskirts of town, the journey mostly silent but for smalltalk. Once they reached the outskirts of Mavia and walked out through the entrance gates to Zyfria, the air grew colder. The ground was sandy this side of Mavia, not green like outside Thirrum. There was no wind because they were protected by Mavia, but Joonmyun knew the further out they travelled, the windier it would get.

Joonmyun knelt in the sand, hidden by the gate, and unrolled the map, trying to work out where they were, and where they should go.

“Egra is here,” Joonmyun said, stabbing a finger at the north-west of the map, to the right of Mavia. “And Effan is here.” He poked an area in the middle of the map, below Egra and Sefla, which was next to it. “Which one is nearer?”

“Well, considering we are here,” Sehun said, pointing to a bump in the lower part of Mavia, “I’d say Effan. It should take us about another day to get there, not too much longer. And hopefully the guards from Thirrum will think we’ve gone to Egra.”

Joonmyun wasn’t entirely sure that the guards would follow that train of thought, and so he shook his head. “No, I think maybe they’ll expect that.” He looked at the map again, examining it. “Wait. What if we go here?” he said, and pointed at Trazile, a small patch of land to the south-west of Mavia.

Sehun scrunched up his face. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous? We’d be going back on ourselves. We could bump into the guards on our route back. And it’ll take two days to get from Mavia to Mepsal alone; it’ll take longer to get to Trazile.” He pointed at the parish to the east of Trazile.

“Well, we could hide in Mepsal first,” Joonmyun said, examining the map closely. “These are trees, right?” He pointed out the swirls on the map. They covered Mepsal and Trazile almost entirely. “If we hid in there we could sneak back to Trazile.”

“I don’t think that’d work,” Sehun argued, frowning. “I think maybe we should go to Mepsal and then straight up to Effan.”

Jongin looked up then, speaking for the first time in hours. “I don’t care where we go, but we need to head off now. It’s growing darker and we’ve got to get away from Mavia. We’ve got no money and no light once it reaches darkness in a few hours. We have to hide in case the guards are around tonight.”

“Good point,” Joonmyun said. “I say Mepsal. They won’t expect it.”

Sehun shrugged, as if giving up. “Your call, Boss,” he said, though he didn’t seem bitter when he stood up. He waited whilst Joonmyun rolled up the map and pointed the compass in the right direction.

The compass pointed due north. Joonmyun spun to face the opposite direction and started walking out into the sandy plains.

They met nothing for the first mile or so, when the sand began to turn back into grass, and the ground grew softer underfoot. Joonmyun was grateful for the texture as it was much easier to cross in shoes.

Once they were back on grass, some of the grass long and wispy, scratching at Joonmyun’s calves under his trousers and catching his feet through the gaps in his shoes, they began to see monsters in the far distance. Large purple snakes, more blue salamanders, large green birds with yellow-tipped feathers.

Joonmyun attempted to lead them past danger, but it was impossible. The birds, with large yellow beaks and vicious black eyes, began to attack, diving down and pecking at them. Joonmyun, throwing his arms out, tried to protect himself with spurts of water.

Jongin also tried, but his attempts were to get away, rather than fight. He teleported a few feet away, trying to get behind the birds, which he then began to poke with the stick attached to his bag of clothes.

Sehun was the best, though. He flicked his wrist and the air the birds were in suddenly grew heavier, dragging the birds to the ground, where they flapped helplessly, unable to lift off the ground. Using their wings, they attempted to lift themselves onto their feet, but they couldn’t, which gave Joonmyun and Jongin enough time to run away from them. Sehun followed them, running backwards, keeping the birds firmly against the ground. Once they were out of range, Sehun lifted his power, letting the birds fly back into the air, although they did not chase them.

“That was nice,” Joonmyun said, not entirely sure what to say. It was more than nice. Sehun was good with his power, and it was _strong_. He clearly knew exactly how to use it.

“Thanks,” Sehun said. “Guess I’ll be the air monsters person then.” He gave a slight smile.

“Sure,” Joonmyun said, and laughed, and Jongin cracked a smile as well.

“You show ’em, Sehun,” Jongin said, showing teeth, and smacked Sehun’s bottom, before wrapping an arm around his waist. The two of them walked like that, almost glued at the hip.

Joonmyun turned away from them and walked ahead.

They walked for another hour, heading towards Mepsal, when night began falling. There was no shelter around, and the wind was picking up, so they camped down for the night. After a quick meal of bread, bananas and water, Joonmyun wrapped himself in his ratty blanket, using his bag of clothes to rest his head on, which was what Jongin called a “makeshift pillow”. The blanket didn’t do much to ease the chill of night and he shivered.

Jongin, in his sleeping bag, must have noticed Joonmyun’s shivering, because he scooted as close to Joonmyun as he could get, bodies touching, wrapping himself around Joonmyun. He seemed less cold, and he took Joonmyun’s hands in his, trying to warm them up.

Soon after, Sehun also moved close to Joonmyun, close enough that Joonmyun could feel Sehun’s breath against his neck, and Sehun’s arm across his hip. Joonmyun shut his eyes and, amidst the warmth and the sound of their breathing, somehow managed to fall asleep.


	5. Level Four

Joonmyun woke up the next day with relief he hadn’t died or been killed in the night. Although, for a few moments, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been. He was cold and wet and he shivered under his blanket. At some point in the night, Jongin had slid half under Joonmyun’s blanket as well, so Joonmyun had warmth along his back where Jongin’s blanket was, but his front was cold. Sehun wasn’t there.

The ground was soaked with morning dew, and there were distinct footprints leading several feet away, to where Sehun was crouching, sorting through their belongings. He had pulled on an extra shirt to keep him warm.

“Morning, Hyung,” he said, when he saw that Joonmyun was awake. Maybe sleeping closely together had changed his view on Joonmyun, but the friendly honorific was nice to hear, instead of “sshi”, as Sehun had called him yesterday.

“Morning,” Joonmyun replied, pulling himself into a sitting position. In his sleep, Jongin whined in a protesting tone. Joonmyun mostly ignored him. He pulled himself up and, like Sehun, pulled on another shirt from inside his bag. There was little he could do about his cold feet.

He rolled the wet blanket up and stuffed it back into the bag he was carrying, despite the fact it’d wet the clothes inside. There was nothing he could do about that, either.

He and Sehun sat in silence for some moments, shivering, Joonmyun still only half-awake. The air was still cold despite the extra layers, and Joonmyun was tempted to put even more on.

Sleepily, Joonmyun turned to look at Jongin. “Maybe we should wake him up,” he said. “We should move.”

As he spoke, Sehun stood, crossed to Jongin, and flicked his forehead. When that did nothing, he ripped the blanket from Jongin and kicked his leg. Jongin flapped his arms around, covered his head, and then sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“What happened?” he whined, until he saw Sehun standing there and Joonmyun watching him from the ground behind Sehun. He sighed and stood up, stretching.

“Morning,” Sehun said, almost cheerfully, and he crossed back over to Joonmyun. “Breakfast?”

Breakfast was a quick meal of the last of the bread rolls and the one remaining banana split between the three of them. Joonmyun poured them all glasses of water. It was useful, sometimes, this power to just produce drinkable water from his hands. He could also sometimes produce water from the air, making the moisture heavy; making the air rain. He didn’t have control over that. He didn’t have control over his power most of the time, but he had better control at filling objects with water than anything else.

Once they had had their fill of breakfast, they checked their clothing was stored neatly in the bags, and then set out again, crossing the plains carefully. They skirted as many of the monsters as they possibly could, but sometimes it was impossible, and they ended up attempting to fight them. What Joonmyun had learnt from the previous night was that none of his small group were natural fighters. He hoped they would get better with experience, because they certainly needed to survive out there.

There was a swarm of flesh-coloured insects ahead that they could not avoid. Joonmyun threw his hands up to protect himself from them as the three of them attempted to run through the swarm towards Mepsal. They all had to bat the insects away from their eyes and mouths, and Joonmyun found it incredibly unpleasant. He didn’t know what the insects were even for, but he already knew he disliked them.

“Can’t you teleport us?” Joonmyun half-shouted over the sound of the beating wings.

“I’ve never been there!” Jongin screamed back. “What if we landed in a marsh and drowned?”

“Then get us out of the swarm!” Sehun added, and reached over to grab hold of Jongin’s wrist. Joonmyun followed suit, and a second later they were gone.

They stepped back into the world a few metres past the bug swarm, but ahead of two creatures that Joonmyun knew were called Minotaurs, though he didn’t know how he knew that. Some of the bugs seemed to be alerting the Minotaurs to their presence. Joonmyun gulped.

“Oh no, oh no,” he breathed, seeing the Minotaurs’ large horns and angry bull snouts. “We’re going to die.”

Jongin grimaced. “Not on my watch, we’re not,” he grumbled, and tugged them out of existence again.

This time they appeared beyond the Minotaurs and promptly began running. The Minotaurs just seemed to let them go.

They ran for what seemed to Joonmyun like a good chunk of the day. He could tell that the more they ran, the hotter it got. Eventually, they had to stop so he and Sehun could strip their extra shirts off and stuff them back into their bags, before setting back out at a slower speed. They were all sweating by then, rivulets running down their chests and backs. Joonmyun wanted to just lie down and use his power to bathe himself, but they still weren’t at Mepsal, and he didn’t want them to be caught, so he stood up. “We should move.”

“Can’t we rest a bit first?” Sehun asked.

“We can rest once we’re in Mepsal,” Joonmyun said, “but we’ve got to get there alive first. And we’re going to get caught if we stay here. Up.”

He tugged both younger, pouting, boys to their feet and then after him. They both whinged a little, but once realising he wasn’t going to stop and let them go, they quietened, and began to walk quickly themselves.

They stopped for lunch a short while later, beginning on the apples, trying not to dig into the trail rations until absolutely necessary. Joonmyun had no idea when they could next get food, and so it was better to leave the dried food until last.

They were quiet during the afternoon, the exhaustion of moving quickly all day starting to set in. Joonmyun poured them constant glasses of water, trying to keep them from passing out, which was tiring in itself. Joonmyun had never used his power so much he became dizzy until then.

Finally, after endless blue sky, light green grass, and the odd lumbering shape, in the distance, Joonmyun suddenly realised he could see trees. The horizon was dark and green. “Jongin! Jongin there are trees,” he gasped, nudging Jongin and pointing.

Jongin sighed and took hold of Sehun and Joonmyun, taking them to just beside the first row of trees. They all moved behind the tree directly ahead of them, heading into the forest of Mepsal.

Once inside the forest, Joonmyun’s compass started spinning crazily, as if it didn’t know where anything was. Joonmyun dropped it back into his bag with a shrug and looked around them.

They had walked between many trees, not meeting anything; neither monster nor anything else. When Joonmyun turned around, he could not see which way they had come. They were well and truly lost.

Joonmyun refused to panic. He wouldn’t believe that they would get properly lost in there. There had to be a path, or a person they could ask, somewhere. There had to be some way of traversing Mepsal, finding food and then being able to leave, to move on to somewhere else once the coast was clear.

After what seemed like hours of nothing, Joonmyun saw something moving, beyond a tree. He tried to get a closer look, but all he could see was that it was small and appeared to have wings. He’d not have seen it if its eyes hadn’t glinted. Fear struck him. Fear that they were being watched. Fear that there was something there.

He took a step towards it and then slipped, crashing down. He thought he’d hit the ground, but he fell through it, like there wasn’t any at all. The ground obviously hadn’t been solid, because he slid into some kind of watery, muddy substance.

He flailed, splashing about and trying to climb back onto solid ground. Jongin and Sehun reached over to haul him out, tugging and tugging, digging their heels in to add extra weight. Joonmyun wasn’t heavy, but the muddy liquid was like quicksand, dragging him down. He had to scramble for purchase on the edges of the pool, and clumps of dirt were breaking off, into the mud.

Suddenly, the thing that was hiding in the trees flew out, batting its wings loudly. Joonmyun turned to look at it, and was surprised to find something that reminded him of a cat, but wasn’t.

It had the body shape of a cat being dangled from its front two legs, with a long, forked tail and rabbit ears. It was black, but it wasn’t remarkable that Joonmyun had seen it in the darkness because its fur, slightly long, was covered in a metallic sheen. Joonmyun couldn’t describe it, but it was shiny.

Jongin jumped when he saw it, and almost let go of Joonmyun to bat at it. “Get away, get away!” he cried.

“I’m sorry!” the flying cat thing wailed. It had the voice of a little girl, a little upset girl. “I’m sorry! I’ll help!” She dropped close to Joonmyun, hooked surprisingly sharp and strong teeth in his shirt, and yanked him out of the water. She dropped him on the ground and moved to sit next to him, nosing him with a small, furry pink triangle, long silver whiskers jutting out from each side. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she said, and gave a remarkably human sob. “I was just curious! People don’t come to Mepsal. It’s not safe here you know.”

“I’d never have guessed,” Joonmyun grumbled, pulling himself up onto his knees and trying to shake the wetness off himself like a dog. The cat thing squealed and ran away from him and hid behind a bush.

“But the human oppas have a map, right?” she squeaked from her hiding place. “You wouldn’t be in Mepsal without one, right? It’s full of marshes and swamps and scary Behemoths and tigers and things like that.”

“We don’t have a map of Mepsal,” Sehun said, and she let out a gasp of horror.

“Oppas are going to die,” she said, flatly. “Clearly Daddy is going to have to share his map with you. Oppas don’t look scary.”

Joonmyun wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved at her statement they weren’t scary or offended a cat thought they were going to die. “Um,” he said. “Thank you? I think.”

“My Daddy is around somewhere,” she said, coming out from behind the bush. “I just left him for a few moments. He’ll probably come soon. He can show you about Mepsal. Daddy is studying it.”

The way she phrased it made it sound like he was some old scientist. Joonmyun shook his head. “Ahh, it’s okay, we don’t want to disturb anyone,” he said, trying to reassure her. “We’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s not that hard to find our way around Mepsal.” He stood up. “We could go this way,” he said, pointing to the left.

“Vampire bats,” the cat said.

Joonmyun frowned and pointed to the right.

“Minotaurs and tigers,” she said.

Joonmyun sighed. “Alright, you win, where should we go?”

“Just let me find Daddy,” she said, and gave a kittenish smile, before batting her wings and flying into the air, rising above their heads. “Daddy!” she called.

“Yes?” came a voice, and instantly there was a boy standing there. Joonmyun called him a boy because he couldn’t have been much older than Jongin. He was tall, but he still looked young, with a youthful face and figure. He had dark hair that was cut short and was wearing some odd clothes; a pair of blue scratchy-looking trousers and a short dark green tunic with long sleeves, and was wearing a bag with two straps, one going over each of his shoulders. On his feet were covered white shoes not made of leather. “Peach, what is it?”

Joonmyun jumped as the boy spoke, having not seen where he’d come from. From the looks on Jongin and Sehun’s faces, they were just as surprised as he was.

“Where did you come from?” Sehun asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s like you just _appeared_ ,” Jongin said.

“That’s because I did,” the boy said, and he raised his arm to flap it at them, a bored expression on his face.

Joonmyun’s eyes were drawn instantly to the tattoo on the boy’s inner left wrist. It was of an hourglass. “You’re one of us,” he said, wonder in his voice.

“What?” the boy said absently, crossing to pick up his cat and scratch her under the chin. “Wait, what do you mean, one of us?” he added, turning to face Joonmyun and paying closer attention.

Joonmyun raised his wrist to show him. “We all have them. They’re...special, I suppose.”

“I was wondering what it was,” the boy said, rubbing at the tattoo. “It just appeared.”

Joonmyun searched for the words to explain to the boy what had happened. He decided to start simply. “Well, I can tell you. My name’s Joonmyun,” he said. “I’m a Water Cursed.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You,” he breathed. “It’s you?” He sat down on the ground almost heavily, his cat leaping out of his arms as he dropped.

“You’ve heard of Hyung, then?” Jongin asked, resting his arms on his knees.

“Hasn’t everyone?” the boy asked, still staring at Joonmyun. “It’s an honour to meet you,” he added, moving into a kneeling position and bowing, eyes still wide with awe.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Joonmyun said uncomfortably, scratching his chin. “It’s really nothing. But I’m supposed to, I don’t know, do something. And I’m supposed to have eleven companions, and the more companions I get, the better hidden I am. I’m kind of on the run. My parish is trying to kill me.”

“Oh, no!” the boy said, reeling back. “How could they? You’re our only hope!”

Joonmyun shrugged. “Yeah, well, they don’t seem to think so.” He sighed and stood up. “Anyway, we’re hiding in here whilst the guards go hunting. Do you know your way around here?”

The boy leapt to his feet in an ungainly way and Sehun giggled into his hand. The boy pouted at him, but Sehun didn’t stop. “Yes! Yes I do,” the boy said, and pointed to his cat. “She has a map.”

Joonmyun looked at the cat, disbelieving. “Her?” he said, brows furrowed in confusion. She was tiny and he didn’t see any form of map.

“Well, she’s magic,” the boy said, shrugging. “She has maps in her head, and stuff. Peach, show them.”

The cat named Peach flew into the air, shut her eyes, and when she opened them again a map appeared in the air before them, light streaming from the cat’s eyes. The map was blue and lit up brightly, and when Joonmyun tried to put his fingers against it, they went through it. It wasn’t solid. He jerked back, almost slipping back into the marsh, but quickly being caught by hands from all corners.

“What is it?” he asked, once he was safely on dry land. He took a couple of steps further away from the edge just to make sure he wouldn’t fall back in.

“It’s a hologram,” the boy said. “Peach acts as a projector. She uses her eyes to show you what you need or want to see.”

Joonmyun gasped. “That’s so weird. Flying cats, holograms, what you’re wearing...it’s all weird.”

“I’m not a cat!” Peach squeaked.

“Well, you _look_ like a cat,” Jongin pointed out. “What are you?”

She said something that sounded remarkably like a sneeze. “Bless you,” Joonmyun offered.

“That’s what I’m called!”

“I think I’ll stick with flying cat,” Sehun muttered. Joonmyun smiled, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Also, what do you mean, what I’m wearing? This is normal,” the boy said, looking down at himself.

“Never seen anything like it before,” Joonmyun said.

“I don’t know what _you’re_ wearing but it kind of looks out of the Middle Ages.” He shook his head. “Have you seriously never seen jeans before?” he asked in surprise. “What _century_ are you from?”

“He’s from Thirrum,” Sehun and Jongin chorused.

“Oh,” the boy said. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He blinked. “You don’t have anything there, right? No electricity or running water or cars or _anything_.”

“No,” Joonmyun agreed, frowning, and he picked up his pack and began walking away. He was fed up. He hadn’t wanted to panic before, but he was in a forest full of marshes and swamps, with two boys he didn’t know very well, one he didn’t know at all, and a flying cat. He had fallen into a marsh and nearly drowned, so he was wet and muddy and sticky, and his hometown, the hometown he’d never felt any loyalty to before then, was being made fun of. He had had enough. He tried to be a nice person, but he’d never claimed to be a saint, and he’d never asked to be a leader. Let them find their own way around. He just wanted to be out of there. Maybe he was better off dead.

“Hey, hey, wait, at least make sure you’re going in the right direction! Peach, tell him,” the boy said, flapping him arms about and running after Joonmyun. Jongin and Sehun ran after him, and his cat followed, beating her wings until she got ahead of Joonmyun.

“Oppa, Oppa, stop! You don’t want to die!” she shouted at him, and placed the paws of her hind legs against his chest to stop him moving. She was surprisingly strong for a tiny flying cat, Joonmyun realised when he discovered that he couldn’t move forwards. “Daddy’s right!”

Joonmyun threw his hands up in annoyance. “Fine,” he grumbled, and slumped to the ground where he had been standing, pulling his knees close to his chest and resting his head on them. “I’m just tired. I don’t know what’s going on.”

The boy, whose name he _still_ didn’t know, raced over to sit beside him, and copied Joonmyun’s position like a small child imitating his father. Sehun crossed to sit next to him, and Jongin moved to sit on the other side of Joonmyun, his hip pressing a warm and almost comforting line into Joonmyun’s.

“Alright,” Sehun said. “If nobody is going to talk, I’ll do it. I’m Sehun, and that’s Jongin.” He pointed around Joonmyun towards his limpet. “We’re both Cursed, and we’re both helping Joonmyun-hyung out. We have to protect Hyung, or he’ll die.” This wasn’t anything Joonmyun hadn’t already said, but it sounded better from Sehun’s mouth. “And you’re one of us. You have to join us, _mate_.” He stressed “mate” with an eyebrow raise.

The boy turned to look at Sehun, and was silent for a few moments, before almost exploding with, “Oh! I’m Zitao, Zitao! Sorry! I forgot.” He turned to look at his cat, who had curled up in front of them, and said, “This is Peach. She is magical and made of metal and she does stuff.”

Zitao? That sounded familiar. Joonmyun wracked his brains for where he’d heard or read it before, and then he got it. It had been one of the names of the people in the register. One of the ones he couldn’t pronounce. “I know of you!” he said, eyes lighting up at the realisation. “You’re a time controller, right? From Harrif? 1993? You’re older than those two,” he added, pointing at Sehun and Jongin.

Zitao’s eyes widened almost in fear, and he shuffled backwards nervously.

Joonmyun only realised how it sounded once it was out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m not a stalker!” he said, flailing, and trying to pull Zitao back into line, moving away from Jongin’s warmth as he did so. “Jongin’s father runs a registry and we were looking in the Cursed register for people who might be like us, who might have tattoos and might come and help, and I only remember your name because I couldn’t pronounce it, and I found it really interesting. I’m sorry!” he repeated, and leant over and gave Zitao a kind of attempted reassurance in the form of an awkward half-hug, pulling back quickly lest Zitao think him odd. “I’m sorry, Zitao, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he mumbled, and bit his lip a little sheepishly. To change the topic, he turned hastily to Peach, and said, “Um, how old are you?”

She gave another kittenish smile. “I was one in May,” she said. “It’s about five years old in human years.”

That explained a lot. It explained her babyish tone and her straightforwardness, the way she’d tell things like she saw it. She was only a baby.

Zitao tucked his knees under his chin as Joonmyun talked to Peach, and he stared out into the forest. Joonmyun was wondering what he was looking at, what he was thinking, when Zitao shot out, “Say I were to join you. What would I need to do?”

“Travel with us,” Joonmyun said. “Help us around Pathalff. We need to pick up all the members, and we don’t know who or where they are, only that they’re across Pathalff, and they’re all teenagers. They all have tattoos on their wrists, which is how we shall identify them.”

Peach suddenly stood up and crossed to Joonmyun. She stuck her furry pink nose against the tattoo on his wrist, and then jumped back as if something had given her an electric shock. “I think I can help,” she said. “The dye in this tattoo is pretty special. It smells something funny. I could smell it when I saw you earlier, but I could smell it even before I saw you. After a few hours I stopped smelling Daddy’s, but yours was new. I bet I could sniff out people with the tattoos. If we got close enough, I mean, I could.”

As she spoke, Joonmyun felt his heart race, and he tried to hold the smile down. “How close would you need to be?” Joonmyun asked, eyes wide, heart pumping.

“In the same parish, I think,” she said. “I could probably tell how many people, too.”

“Wow,” Joonmyun said. “That’d be amazing, and _so_ useful. You really think you could help?”

She nodded. “As long as Daddy joins.”

Zitao shrugged. “There’s only one person in Harrif waiting for me, and he told me not to come back for a while. So, why not?” He smiled softly. “Plus I could probably help with monsters and fighting, too. Peach has an encyclopaedia of monsters in her head, so we’d always know what we were fighting.”

“You are a _godsend_ ,” Joonmyun gushed with a smile. “That would be so awesome. None of us can fight, and we have no idea about any of the monsters.”

“Hey!” Sehun and Jongin protested.

Joonmyun shrugged. “It’s true, though,” he said with a smile.

Zitao smiled back. “Okay,” he said, and stood up. “Let’s do this.”

Joonmyun’s right wrist burnt again, and when the redness went down, he could see Zitao’s hourglass between Jongin and Sehun’s symbols, and he smiled even more.


	6. Level Four

Peach led them to a safe area in Mepsal, away from any monsters that might try to attack them. It made for the first peaceful and relaxing time the small group had had since leaving Mavia.

“So, how does Peach work?” Joonmyun asked cautiously, trying not to hurt her feelings, but not entirely sure what she was (and, indeed, whether she actually had any or not).

Zitao shrugged. “I’m not really sure myself. She was partially born and partially made. My brother designed her. He gave her dragon wings. But she’s magical. She changes how she looks all the time. She was green last week and had a pig’s tail.”

Joonmyun imagined it with a smile, before reaching over to scratch behind her floppy rabbit ears. She gave a loud purr before curling up into a ball and going to sleep.

“How long have you been here in Mepsal, then?” Sehun asked. He was sitting incredibly closely to Zitao, almost touching him, and had the most eager expression Joonmyun had ever seen on the face of a usually inexpressive person. Sehun didn’t have a lot of facial expressions. Joonmyun was working on decoding them, but it was difficult. However, since they had found Zitao, something seemed to have broken in Sehun’s expressions. Joonmyun thought it was his eyes. They almost sparkled.

“A week,” Zitao said. “We would have been here longer, but the maps Peach had were wrong, and we encountered some horrible locusts where we hadn’t realised they lived, so we had to run back to Harrif to find an internet cafe and update the maps. But once Peach had downloaded the new maps, we came straight back. We’ve set up camp pretty near here.”

Joonmyun blinked at him. “What is an internet? What is download?”

“Oh, I forgot you’ve never heard of anything. Um, well.” Zitao paused, as if trying to think how to explain them. “Um, well, there are these machines called computers, and they can do lots of stuff, but one thing people use them for is to connect to the internet, which is this big cyber community.” He paused again. “Um. Online? No, wait. Um, well basically using wires between machines you can talk to people in other parishes and countries. But by writing it instead of speaking. And there’s tons of stuff uploaded to the internet, including maps that Peach can download, and music, and videos and pictures and stuff. Videos are moving pictures. Downloading is, like. Um. Saving? Collecting?” He shrugged.

“I knew that,” Sehun said, puffing his chest up, and Jongin snorted into his hand. “I _did_!” Sehun protested, and reached around Joonmyun to smack him. Jongin pulled himself half behind Joonmyun, pretending to cower, but the effect was spoilt by the fact he was laughing openly.

“Of course you did,” Joonmyun said, placatingly, rubbing Sehun’s shoulder gently. Sehun looked a little grateful he was being believed. “Thanks, Zitao.”

“Thanks, Hyung,” Sehun mumbled.

Zitao just looked confused. “Are they always like this?” he asked, leaning into Joonmyun’s personal space to whisper in his ear. Zitao, Joonmyun was learning quickly, didn’t really have a concept of personal space. It was probably why he hadn’t shoved Sehun’s thigh away from his.

Not that personal space was something Joonmyun hadn’t had too much of in his seventeen years. He had had enough space to last forever. In fact, Joonmyun was almost _relieved_ that Jongin and Zitao were comfortable touching him. It made him feel wanted.

“Always,” he simply whispered back, although his whisper was more of a stage-whisper than a real one.

“Hey!” Sehun and Jongin chorused, pouting at him, and Joonmyun smiled and ruffled both of their hair. Sehun had twigs in his from the forest, Joonmyun realised, and he moved away from Jongin and Zitao to kneel in front of the youngest and pull them out gently.

“I’m fine, _Umma_ ,” Sehun joked, to giggles from Jongin and Zitao, and he tried to knock Joonmyun’s hands away, but Joonmyun was resolute. Once he’d pulled all of the twigs from Sehun’s hair, he smiled and sat back, turning to face the group.

Jongin slid a little closer so they were almost sitting in a circle. Zitao looked around them, smiling softly. He seemed happy to have found them. Joonmyun wasn’t entirely sure what had given him that impression. Maybe it was how Zitao had become immediately comfortable with them, and cuddly, like he hadn’t had that kind of contact in a while, just like Joonmyun hadn’t. Maybe Peach was a good judge of character and had trusted them. Or maybe Zitao thought he was, or something.

Or maybe they were the stupid ones. Maybe Zitao was secretly a serial killer.

But no, that seemed absurd. Nobody could be both that clingy to strangers and cuddly with his pet and also evil. Unless the clinginess was testing how good they were to eat.

Joonmyun thought he might be going crazy.

Well, that wasn’t that unfair, considering his day so far. He was probably stressed. He was on the run, fearful for his life, and on a mission to find people he didn’t know. His life was stressful.

He had no idea who any of the people were. He didn’t know their names, their powers, where they would find them. But at least he now had help in the form of Peach.

As if he could read Joonmyun’s thoughts, Zitao said, “So, you said there are twelve of us? You don’t know anything else?”

Joonmyun shook his head. “Nothing. We couldn’t find anything to help us. I mean clearly everyone was in the register but how were we supposed to know who is who. And Jongin had a good point; there’s no guarantee that people would stay where they were born. I didn’t. You didn’t.”

Zitao shrugged. “I’ll see if I can work with Peach to make it easier. If we have time, we could go back to Harrif. It’ll take us a while to walk there, but we can use the internet and try and improve Peach’s sensing abilities. If I can tune her so she can sense the tattoos from a distance, we should be much better off.”

“That would be great,” Joonmyun said. “I don’t know if we have time though. When we left Mavia they were going to arrive there in two days. That would be tomorrow.”

Was it really tomorrow? Was it really only one day after they’d left Mavia? Joonmyun couldn’t believe it, and then he realised it was because there was light in the forest. He hadn’t noticed the sun setting. It had to have set because it had been darkening when they reached Mepsal.

“I wonder what the time is,” he mumbled.

“Oh, um,” Zitao said, and then he rolled up the sleeve of his tunic-thing. On his wrist was a timepiece, black, with straps keeping it in place. Joonmyun was pretty sure it hadn’t been there earlier. “Nine o’clock,” he said, and then tugged his sleeve back down to hide it.

“What’s that?” Joonmyun asked, surprised.

“It’s a watch,” Sehun said, replying for Zitao. “It’s a timepiece that straps to your wrist. It’s much better than carrying around a pocket watch. My dad used to have one. I would have got it but—” He broke off, shaking his head, though his expression didn’t seem to change at all. Jongin gave him a hug, smiling in a sad way.

Joonmyun didn’t ask, but he could see Zitao fighting with himself, trying not to ask. Before Zitao could open his mouth, Joonmyun said, “I wish I had a watch, it would be so useful. Maybe I should get one.” Then he paused. “Ahh, but with what money?” he asked aloud.

Zitao jerked into an upright position. “You have no money on you?”

“No,” Joonmyun said, “and not a lot of food.”

“We don’t have a lot of clothes either,” Jongin said. “We couldn’t carry a lot in our bundles.” He indicated the sacks attached to the sticks. They’d placed them in a small pile beside them.

Zitao stood up. “And I suppose you’ll tell me you have no weapons either?”

Joonmyun shook his head. “Weapons? No.”

As he said it, Zitao slapped his hand over his face. “You are all going to die,” he said grimly.

Joonmyun thought this was unfair. “We’re not,” he said, frowning. “We lasted this long.”

“And what were you going to do when you ran out of food? How did you think you’d be able to survive without any? Were you going to pray you met someone with money?”

Joonmyun shrugged. “I’m not sure we...thought about that,” he said a little regretfully.

“I can tell,” Zitao said, shaking his head. “Right, it’s settled. Tomorrow we’re leaving for Harrif. My brother won’t be there, so we’ll be fine. I’ll get you weapons and food.”

“No!” Joonmyun said, scrambling to his feet as well. “We’ll manage. You don’t have to—” He broke off as Zitao raised an eyebrow and he felt thoroughly told off, only without words. He slumped back to the ground. “Okay,” he said.

“Good,” Zitao said, nodding. “I’ll take you to where I’ve set up camp. Are you tired? Because we can set out tonight if you’re not.”

Joonmyun wasn’t tired, he was exhausted, all the way to his bones. But he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible. “But how will we cross the plains in the dark?”

“I have light,” Zitao said. “We’ll be fine.”

Joonmyun turned to face his two original companions. They were both young, so they might have had extra energy and stamina, but they also might have got tired quicker. “What do you two want to do?”

Jongin shrugged and then turned to look at Sehun for a moment. They seemed to be communicating with their eyes. Sehun shrugged as well, and Jongin turned back to face Joonmyun. “We’ll walk with you,” he said.

Joonmyun nodded and stood up again. “Let’s move,” he said to Zitao.

Zitao gently stroked Peach until she woke up. “We’re going back to the camp,” he said to her, and sleepily she floated into the air.

“Follow me.”

They worked their way through the forest growth, ducking under low-hanging branches and climbing over roots. They had to skirt midges and birds, fluttering about, but luckily all the larger beasts had gone to sleep. She still warned them to be silent when around their sleeping places, though.

As they walked, it grew darker and darker, until there was barely any light shining through the trees. Before it became completely black, Zitao placed his bag on the ground and opened it by moving a tab along two toothed lines, splitting them. Then he took a large and solid instrument out and clicked a switch at the side. A large beam of light was expelled from the instrument, covering the land in front of them.

“What is that thing?” Joonmyun gasped.

“It’s a torch,” Zitao explained. “It’s portable light. It’s how we can travel the plains in the dark, and it’s much better than carrying a wooden torch and lighting it.”

A wooden torch and candles were the only ways Joonmyun knew of to make light. He felt utterly confused, as always.

Following the beam of light from the torch, they were led around several more trees until they reached a clearing in the forest. The clearing was occupied by a building made out of fabric. Or Joonmyun presumed it was a building. It had no windows, but there was a flap at the front that seemed like a door, and it was standing on its own. On his second look, Joonmyun could see there were metal poles in the ground holding the body up.

“This is my tent,” Zitao explained. “This is where I sleep, because it’s the best place in this forest. Can you help me take it down? If we’re leaving, we should do this now.”

It shouldn’t have taken them long to bring the tent down, considering there were four of them, but none of Joonmyun’s original group had any idea what to do, even when Zitao gave them gentle orders, and they mostly just got in the way. Eventually all three of them flopped onto the ground and watched Zitao roll up the tent and place it back in a bag he slung over his shoulders to join his larger bag. Joonmyun learnt he was carrying his tent, sleeping bag, money, food, and even cooking implements. For a young boy, he was very strong.

“So cool...” Joonmyun breathed. Jongin looked at him with a strange expression, and wouldn’t speak to him again for some time. Joonmyun didn’t understand it, but he was almost grateful for the silence.

Once Zitao was packed, they headed out through the forest, making their way steadily. It took them hours alone to get out of the trees and back onto Zyfria.

“It’ll take less than a day to get across there, so we will probably arrive around sunrise,” Zitao said, showing them where Harrif was on the map with reference to where they were. Joonmyun nodded before collecting the map and folding it back up, placing it back in his pack.

The walk across towards Harrif was silent. None of them wanted to speak in case they woke up any monsters, so the only sound was that of their breathing and footsteps on the grass. They trod lightly, trying not to disturb the sleeping holes of the animals. Zitao and Peach led them with their light.

As they walked, Joonmyun grew wearier and wearier, leaning against Jongin. Jongin made a groaning noise, but he took Joonmyun’s hand, trying to lead him onwards. Joonmyun yawned, which set Jongin off, which set Sehun off, until all three of them were trying to hide yawns. Zitao probably heard them, but he said nothing, continuing to lead them until the sun began to rise early in the morning. As it rose, in the distance the outline of a town became more defined.

Joonmyun smiled. “Finally!” He almost cheered. He turned to Jongin, asking sincerely with his eyes.

“No,” Jongin whined. “I could barely teleport you and Sehun to Mepsal, and I’m so tired I don’t think I could teleport even myself right now.” He leant against Joonmyun as Joonmyun leant against him, almost toppling them both over if Sehun hadn’t intervened, wrapping an arm around Jongin’s waist.

Zitao shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said, and then he added, “Grip onto me,” to Sehun.

Sehun yawned and reached out with his free hand, snagging onto Zitao’s shirt. Zitao then rolled his sleeve up and clicked a button on his watch.

The world seemed to freeze. Joonmyun had thought it was quiet before, but he hadn’t realised there had actually been background noise. Now there wasn’t. “What happened?” he asked.

“I stopped time,” Zitao said. “This’ll help us get to Harrif quicker. I can’t stop you from being tired but I can give us more time to sleep once we get back to my house.”

Joonmyun was touched by his thoughtfulness and he straightened himself, rearranged his pack in his hand. He gripped Jongin’s hand tighter and dragged him along behind him. Sehun let go of Zitao as Jongin pulled him along. Together the three of them toddled along, stumbling over nothing. Joonmyun was the only one of them who wasn’t tripping up, and that’s only because he was forcing himself to pay particular attention to everything on the ground. He was surprised he wasn’t tripping over air, though.

It took them nearly an hour to reach Harrif, but once they arrived Joonmyun teetered a little on his feet, almost sitting down.

Zitao led them between square buildings so tall they blocked out the skyline and the sun, until they got to a small, open but roofed place. It had a bench, and Jongin and Joonmyun almost fell over each other sitting down.

“This is a bus stop,” Zitao explained. “The bus will take us near to where I live. You can sleep on the bus. I’ll wake you.”

Joonmyun dropped his head onto Jongin’s shoulder as Zitao clicked the button on his wrist and the world started moving again. He yawned and his eyes drooped closed.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping for when Zitao gently shook him awake, and he checked he and Jongin were still holding their packs through fuzzy eyes before he let Zitao shepherd them and Sehun up a small set of stairs into a rectangle with wheels.

Zitao leant over Joonmyun and dumped several coins in front of a man sitting behind a small wheel. Joonmyun, through his sleepy mind, thought he must have been the driver.

There was a beeping noise and then a long sheet of paper was expelled from beside the driver, and Zitao took it before pushing the three of them down a thin corridor. He moved Jongin and Joonmyun into two connecting seats and then tugged Sehun into the row behind them. Joonmyun fell back asleep, head cushioned on Jongin’s shoulder again, hands still entwined.

Joonmyun was shaken awake again after what seemed like only a few minutes of shut-eye. The four of them, plus Peach, climbed off what Joonmyun realised must be called a bus, and then they sleepily followed Zitao along the roads, stumbling as they nearly fell off the higher, paved areas and into the main road. Finally, they arrived at a large building. Joonmyun was so tired he couldn’t describe it. He could barely keep his eyes opened.

Zitao opened the door with a key he fished out of a pocket in his trousers. He let them in, and they all kicked off their shoes and stumbled over to the stairs.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet,” Zitao said, and he led them up the stairs. “This is my room,” he said, pointing at one door. “And this is my brother’s,” he added, pointing at another. He walked over and knocked on the door before poking his head inside. “He’s not here, but I don’t think he’ll be too happy if someone sleeps there anyway.” He cocked his head. “Maybe I should let you two have the bed? Sehun-sshi, there’s a couch downstairs. It’s pretty comfortable.”

“Sure,” Sehun replied sleepily, and he stumbled back down the stairs. Joonmyun heard a thump and a groan, but presumed Sehun had found the couch anyway.

He and Jongin were led into Zitao’s bedroom. There was a bed in the corner, and that was all Joonmyun saw. He and Jongin shuffled across, one human with four legs, and flopped into it without changing their clothes, only needing to drop their packs on the ground.

Jongin wrapped himself around Joonmyun like a limpet, but Joonmyun didn’t even mind, just slipping back into sleep easily, and knowing that this time he wouldn’t be awoken for some time. It was just what he needed.


	7. Level Four

Joonmyun woke up when the sun was high in the sky, to Jongin’s arms around his waist and legs between his. The sun streamed through the window, warming his back, and Joonmyun wriggled out of Jongin’s grasp carefully so as to not wake him.

He looked around the room, since he hadn’t been able to when he had arrived. It was quite large and mostly followed a blue and white colour scheme. The walls were a soft baby blue and the furniture white. There were darker blue accents filling the room, although the curtains, to Joonmyun’s surprise, were pink. They had blue spirals in them and they actually went very well with the room. The window they were covering was large and looked out onto a large garden, with a table and chairs below the window and rolls of grass stretching out across the land. There were flowerbeds around the edge of the garden and a swing set in the middle, like the one Jongin’s sister had been pushing her daughter on but bigger. Joonmyun supposed it was Zitao’s.

He turned away from the window. The bed was pressed into the corner of the room, a large bed in which they’d only slept half. The quilt was pink and blue, like the curtains, but it didn’t look particularly feminine. It didn’t seem like something Zitao would pick though, just from Joonmyun’s short impression of him. Maybe Peach had picked them.

Next to the bed were a chest of drawers and a wooden wardrobe which was half open. Joonmyun could see rows and rows of shoes, bags and tops inside. On top of the chest of drawers were rows of what Joonmyun knew to be jewellery. Small rings of varying colours, bigger rings to wrap around wrists, watches, and even several neck chains. Joonmyun felt incredibly out of place, staring at this exclamation of wealth. He turned away hurriedly.

On the walls were large pictures of people Joonmyun didn’t recognise, pencil drawings, paintings, and a small collection of photographs. There were some of Zitao with two people who looked like him so much they had to be his parents, and some with a taller, blond boy who looked nothing like him, and some with people who were presumably the blond boy’s parents. There were also photos of Zitao with boys who looked about his age, a girl or two mixed in the groups, and some of him holding various metal cups and smiling widely. There were metal-framed papers next to these photos, claiming Huang Zitao had won several competitions for something called ‘wushu’. Below these were photos of Zitao holding a sword, or a large stick, and looking very serious.

Joonmyun turned away from the walls and back to the bed. Jongin was very much asleep when Joonmyun went to check on him, and Joonmyun didn’t want to disturb him. He looked very small in sleep, and very peaceful.

Joonmyun moved over to the door, passing by a potted plant that looked prickly and seemed to want to attack Joonmyun, and that’s when he saw the two sets of clothes hanging behind it. There was a piece of paper stuck to the door that read, “These are for you to wear for now.”

The clothes Zitao had left confused Joonmyun terribly, because he couldn’t understand how they worked. The top seemed fairly simple; he pulled it over his head with the picture at the back, and put his arms through the sleeves. The sleeves were short and the whole thing felt strange. The blue and scratchy-looking hard trousers were the confusing bit, and Joonmyun stood in the room in his underwear and the soft top for several minutes, trying to work out how they worked. In the end, he pulled them up his legs, the ends trailing over his feet, and left the room, nearly tripping over himself. He didn’t fasten them, not understanding what the toothed bits that were like those on Zitao’s bag and the knobbly part were.

He half-fell down the stairs until he reached the bottom and shook his head, checking everything still worked as it should. Zitao hurried out, and sighed when he saw him. “Joonmyun-sshi,” he said, and shook his head. “You’re wearing your clothes all wrong.”

He indicated for Joonmyun to turn his ‘t-shirt’ around, putting the design at the front. “The little tag goes at the back,” he explained, and then sighed again. “This is a zip,” he said, indicating the toothed part. “You pull on the little tag up the zip and it closes it.” He mimed it. “And that’s a button. You push it through the little cut in the jeans. I’d do that first before the zip. It’ll make it easier.”

Joonmyun did as Zitao said. The trousers were still too long, and Zitao knelt, rolling them up around his ankles. When he stood up, Joonmyun spontaneously gave him a hug, wrapping his arms around Zitao’s shoulders. “Thank you!” he enthused. “I was really confused.”

Zitao returned the hug, patting Joonmyun’s back comfortably, and for the first time since meeting Zitao, Joonmyun had no thoughts about Zitao being a serial killer, no thoughts about anything being weird, no thoughts about anything. He felt relaxed in Zitao’s arms. Like it was natural. Like they were friends.

“Hey,” Joonmyun heard from behind him, and he turned his head to look over. Jongin was standing there on the bottom stair, a strange, indecipherable expression on his face. Joonmyun smiled over at him.

“Hi, Jongin-sshi,” Zitao said cheerfully. “Did you sleep well? You didn’t see the clothes I left you, right? I was just helping—” He broke off as Jongin marched over to them, grabbed Joonmyun’s arm, and yanked him out of Zitao’s grasp.

Joonmyun blinked in confusion as Jongin dragged him over to the stairs quickly, not understanding why they were moving, not understanding why Jongin was being so rough with him. As he turned back to Zitao, he could see the younger boy shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Joonmyun-sshi, you help Jongin-sshi, okay?” he called after them. “I’ll get food ready. There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs if you want to shower.”

Jongin dragged Joonmyun up the stairs until they were out of sight of Zitao, when he stopped suddenly. He turned to Joonmyun. “I don’t like him,” he said, the odd expression still on his face. “He shouldn’t be touching you like that anyway.” He ran his hands over the parts Zitao had touched, fingers lightly dancing. It felt ticklish and Joonmyun jerked out of Jongin’s reach. A flash of hurt spread across Jongin’s face, but it was gone so quickly Joonmyun thought he might have imagined it.

Joonmyun didn’t know why Zitao shouldn’t be touching him. It was his right to choose who should be touching him, right? Not Jongin? “I don’t mind,” he said. “He’s been very nice to us. A hug is the least I can do.”

His younger companion seemed to visibly bristle at these words. “You don’t know him, Hyung,” he said. “He could be anything. He has weapons and swords. He could be _anything_.”

Shaking his head, Joonmyun sighed. “He’s fine, Jongin. I think I would have sensed real danger vibes from him if he were going to hurt us.” Jongin still seemed prickly after this, so Joonmyun added, “Do you want to shower?”

Jongin nodded silently, and he let Joonmyun take them into the bathroom. The shower in there was very similar to Jongin’s shower back home, with strange knobs that turned the shower on and upped the temperature.

Jongin scrambled out of his clothes quickly and then, before Joonmyun could leave, tugged Joonmyun’s new shirt off for him. Joonmyun sighed and consented to Jongin’s hand on his skin (nothing else he could do), although he insisted on removing his trousers and underwear himself.

The shower, once they fell into it, was warm, and the spray harsh, pounding down on Joonmyun’s aching shoulders. He rolled them in the wetness as Jongin gathered bottles of soaps and things to wash their hair with. Unlike Jongin’s, which had all been in glass jars, these were in enclosed containers that you could hold in your hand and squeeze out. Joonmyun took some of them and ran them over his body and hair. Jongin, next to him, copied him, using the same soaps Joonmyun had.

Once the soap suds had all been washed away, Joonmyun clambered out of the shower first. The floor was soaking wet and he slipped on the tiles, Jongin reaching out to grab him quickly. They stood, still, for a few moments, catching their breath, and then took towels from the railing. Jongin took care to wrap Joonmyun up first, making sure every inch of him was covered with it.

After they were dry, they headed back to Zitao’s room to get dressed. Joonmyun had to help Jongin with the jeans because he also didn’t understand how they worked, though they fit Jongin much better because Jongin was taller. Joonmyun’s fingers felt strange, twitching uncomfortably, as he helped Jongin. He didn’t have an explanation for it.

They then went back downstairs, Jongin’s fingers around Joonmyun’s almost painful. Joonmyun looked around the ground floor. Beside the staircase was an archway leading into a room with the same soft chairs as had been in Jongin’s house, only these were blue. There was also a large black box with a shiny screen, and shelves and shelves of books.

The other way was a door that Jongin opened. It led into a dining room that was large and had big windows letting light in over the wooden table. The walls were cream and made the room seem even lighter.

There was nobody in the dining room, so they headed through to the bright white kitchen, where Peach was on a high-up shelf surveying Zitao and Sehun, who seemed to be having some kind of food fight. Flour from square, white boxes was being tossed around the room and Joonmyun pulled Jongin out of the room before they were hit as well.

“Sorry!” Zitao gasped just before he was hit full on with the flour, it dousing him fully. “There is food!”

He ushered a dirty Sehun out of the room, telling him to remove his clothes in the hallway before showering so the flour wouldn’t leave marks on his carpet. Then he turned back to a pan on what Joonmyun presumed was the cooker. “I’m making pancakes,” he explained, and tipped out some onto a plate. He handed it over to them, trying not to get flour over their clothes.

Once there was a stack of pancakes, Zitao turned the cooker off and then tugged his t-shirt off. Jongin reached over to cover Joonmyun’s eyes, but not before Joonmyun saw the muscles of his chest ripple.

When Jongin moved his hand Zitao was gone.

Joonmyun didn’t mention it, but he thought it was a little strange that Jongin would act that way. It wasn’t like he had any reason, or, indeed, any right, to stop Joonmyun from looking at or talking to Zitao. There was nothing to explain Jongin’s behaviour, unless Jongin had good reasons for disliking Zitao, and Joonmyun couldn’t imagine he did.

Sehun came back first, in clean clothes. He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, like the one Zitao had been wearing the previous day, and jeans. The whole effect was very body-hugging and Joonmyun nodded appreciatively when he saw Sehun. “It looks good!” he said, reaching over to ruffle Sehun’s hair, before placing several pancakes on his plate.

Sehun batted his hand out of the way, trying to fix his hair, but he had the tiniest of smile on his face. “Thanks, Mum,” he said, less of a teasing note to his voice this time he said it.

Joonmyun rolled his eyes, but he was smiling and, surprisingly, he didn’t hate the nickname when said in a semi-serious tone. It seemed to make him feel even closer to them; his boys. His... _sons_?

Sehun sat down with them. He was halfway through the pancakes Joonmyun had given him when Zitao arrived, looking very good in the tightest trousers Joonmyun had ever seen on a boy. Joonmyun nodded a little appreciatively as Zitao turned to get Peach down from the shelf, jeans hugging his legs, before he moved to sit down on Sehun’s other side.

Joonmyun gave him the rest of the pancakes with a smile. Jongin all but elbowed him, and Joonmyun simply smiled sunnily in response.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?” he asked Zitao.

Zitao mumbled something through a pancake that had Joonmyun wrinkling his nose at his manners, not that he could really talk about such things. Zitao swallowed before saying, “Well, I was thinking we should go shopping. There are some great shops about, and if we go out tonight there’s the night market, too.”

“But none of us have any money,” Joonmyun said, frowning.

“No, but I do,” Zitao said. “You need clothes.”

“I can just give them clothes,” Peach said, climbing onto the table. Zitao moved her immediately back onto the chair at the foot of the table. She pouted but remained there. “I can magic clothes if I know what they look like.”

Zitao nodded. “We can try on clothes, then. I also want to get you a tent and some camping bags for your belongings. They’ll make more sense than carrying bags like that.”

“We’re going to go through places like Keltsa though,” Sehun argued. “We need country clothes too or we’ll look too out of place. We should keep our clothes for when we go there.”

It was a good idea and Joonmyun nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We should do that.”

“You can keep them in the bags,” Zitao said. “The bags might look too modern but I suppose Peach could roughen them up.” She nodded before nosing at his food. He swatted her away, sticking the last pancake in his mouth. “Then it’s settled. We can go. There’s a bus stop into town just around the corner. It’ll only take a few minutes to get there.”

They placed their dishes in the sink and then headed to the door, where they had kicked their shoes off. After putting them back on, the sandals seeming strange paired with the jeans, and after Zitao checked he had his keys, they left. Zitao’s front door, Joonmyun noticed, was white. The walls of the house were also white, with blue accents. The whole effect seemed fresh and bright.

Peach floated along behind them as they weaved between tall buildings and strange moving machines that had to have been the cars of Thirrum’s legends. They finally reached the bus stop and sat until the bus arrived, Sehun and Zitao muttering to each other. Joonmyun didn’t know what they were talking about, and supposed they didn’t want him to know, or they’d include him and Jongin. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine what they could have to talk about already. They had only met less than twenty four hours before. Then again, because of their talking, Zitao probably knew more about Sehun than Joonmyun himself did. He hadn’t really talked to either of them. He didn’t know how to. It had been a long time since he had last talked with someone that way.

Just as Joonmyun was picking up the nerve to turn to talk to Jongin (though to say what, he wasn’t sure), the bus pulled up. Now he could see them in the light, he could see they were large and a green Joonmyun could only describe as the colour of Mepsal’s trees. Zitao took care of their tickets again, dumping loose change into the driver’s hand, before ushering them along the bus. There were no seats together, so Joonmyun got a window seat near the back, and he spent the journey, until Zitao said, “Joonmyun-sshi, the next stop,” staring out at the world.

Harrif was vastly different from Thirrum and even from Mavia. There were cars everywhere, and two-wheeled vehicles that reminded Joonmyun of penny farthings, only more symmetrical. There was little to no greenery about the parish; most of it brick or some kind of solid grey substance covering the ground. The roads were also marked out with something dark and black.

They got off the bus at top end of a large street of buildings. Zitao led them immediately into the first, which had a large glass front with faceless people standing so the world could see them. Joonmyun poked at one. The person was made of some kind of hard material and didn’t seem to notice him poking them.

Zitao led them through aisles of clothing. There was plenty of women’s clothing, or at least Joonmyun presumed that’s what it was. There were floor-length skirts, and shorter ones, and funny tall shoes.

Sehun wandered off at some point to look at trousers, picking up a pair of blue trousers that looked soft and scrutinising them. Joonmyun stayed with Zitao. Jongin stayed as well.

Zitao appeared to have a good eye for fashion. He picked up clothes from rails and turned to press them against Joonmyun or Jongin, sometimes nodding and keeping them, and sometimes shaking his head and placing them back.

Joonmyun liked everything Zitao picked up, because it was all just so _different_ to him. The clothes he’d had back home, he had made himself. His mother had made his clothes when she was still alive. Even the clothes he’d worn in Mavia had probably been hand-stitched. They were one of a kind.

But the clothes in the shop weren’t one-offs. There were rows of them. Joonmyun couldn’t imagine the mind-numbing boredom of making the same clothes over and over again. It could destroy a person.

When Zitao had an armful of clothing he led the two of them over to a section of the shop where there was a girl in thin black trousers, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Hello,” she said. “How many?”

“Hello,” Zitao agreed. “Five for him and six for him,” he said, nodding at Jongin and Joonmyun respectively. He then doled their clothing out. Jongin all-but snatched his from Zitao’s hands, took the plaque with the number five on it from the girl’s outstretched hand, and marched behind the curtain she indicated.

Joonmyun, less angrily, did the same. The booth he was in was small and had knobbles on the walls that he presumed were to hang the clothes on.

The first item he tried on was too big, and the second too small, but he liked the patterns. When Peach snuck behind the curtain, she nodded. “Oppa looks really good!” she chirped, and blinked several times.

“Do you have something caught in your eye?” Joonmyun asked her, worry stretching in. She looked very uncomfortable. He wondered if he should help her.

“I’m taking photographs!” she replied. “I can give you outfits that way.”

She made him get changed again. He felt slightly uncomfortable changing in front of her, but she was a cat and probably didn’t see it like he did. However he was also wearing old underpants and felt awkward because of that as well, like she’d judge him and his holey underwear.

With the tact of a five year old girl, she said, “Oppa, your underwear has holes in it. Would you like some new ones?”

“Um,” Joonmyun said, not sure how to respond, but she must have thought that was an affirmative, because a second later she rubbed against his ankles, the fur soft against his bare skin, and he realised he was wearing solid dark blue underwear. They were surprisingly warm. He felt even more embarrassed.

It got worse when Jongin flung the curtain aside enough for him to slink behind. “You haven’t finished dressing?” he asked, scrutinising Joonmyun. When his eyes moved lower, he said, “Nice pants.”

Joonmyun could feel his cheeks burning and thought he may have turned the colour of a beetroot, whatever a beetroot was. He’d been naked with Jongin, showering, but somehow this was worse. Jongin was actively looking at him. He didn’t think Jongin had looked at him in the shower, or he hoped not. He certainly hadn’t looked. He _hadn’t_. He was better than that. Or more awkward. Something like that.

Joonmyun grabbed at the next outfit uncomfortably, anything to get Jongin’s gaze away from his crotch, and Jongin helpfully assisted, pulling the shirt over Joonmyun’s head and fussing with the collar for him. Joonmyun felt rather like he was five years old again and Jongin was his mother, except that was an incredibly weird analogy and he was more like Jongin’s mother, though Jongin had his own mother and Joonmyun couldn’t imagine Jongin ever calling him _Mum_ anyway, not like Sehun, and, he could imagine, Zitao. Zitao seemed the type. But if he was Sehun and Zitao’s mother, who was Jongin?

Not for the first, or, indeed, last, time, Joonmyun wondered if he was going crazy, and suspected, deep in his soul, that the answer was yes.


	8. Level Four

After the awkwardness that was clothes “shopping” (and Joonmyun hastily covering himself up again), Zitao took them to a camping shop. Joonmyun knew this was what the shop was because it said so on a solid sign held up outside the front door. In fact, it claimed to be Harrif’s absolute best camping shop.

Inside, Zitao showed them plenty of two-strapped bags like his own. Joonmyun originally chose a blue one, although his eyes were drawn to a bright and shining gold bag, but Zitao laughed and said he could have the gold bag because they were the same price. The gold thread had no real gold in it, Zitao assured him, but Joonmyun didn’t mind. He thought it was pretty, and it certainly _looked_ expensive, even if it wasn’t. Having something like that would make him feel better about himself.

Sehun picked a beige bag and Jongin chose a navy blue one, before Zitao moved them over to a selection of tents. They were like the one he’d had up in Mepsal.

The tents were fascinating because there seemed to be a tent for every single possible use. There were single tents, doubles, and tents big enough for entire families. The smaller, lighter ones were called backpacking tents and were light enough for a person to carry them on their back, and the larger ones were for car camping.

“There are four of us, but you said there will be twelve, right?” Zitao asked, turning to face Joonmyun, questions clear over his face.

“Yes,” Joonmyun replied. “There should be twelve. But should we really prepare now? Won’t we be carrying tons of weight around? We don’t know when we’ll meet them, or where.”

“But,” Zitao argued reasonably, “what if we meet them next week and don’t have room for them? What if it’s the middle of Zyfria? We can’t exactly come back here and buy another tent. It’s best to buy tents now. We could buy four three-person tents, or something like that. Three four-person tents?”

“What size is your tent?” Sehun asked him. “Surely we should use yours as well? It’ll save on money if anything.”

“A two-person tent,” Zitao replied. “But that would mean, maybe, two three-person tents, a four-person and a two-person, or three two-persons?” He paused. “They aren’t very heavy tents, but when we’re carrying everything we need, we’ll be quite weighed down. Who is the least strong?”

“Joonmyun-hyung,” Jongin and Sehun chorused.

“Hey,” Joonmyun pouted. “I’m not weak or anything.”

“I’ve worked as a builder and Sehun on a farm chasing chickens and fixing fences,” Jongin said. “We’re definitely stronger.”

Joonmyun remained pouting but said nothing in response.

“Why does it matter?” Jongin asked, frowning at Zitao.

“I’m trying to work out who could carry the lightest tent and who could carry the larger, heavier ones. I don’t suppose anyone would have much trouble, though. The tents and their poles aren’t going to be more than, maybe, eight kilograms? At absolute maximum. Tents aren’t heavy anymore.”

“So they used to be?” Joonmyun asked, head cocked to the side as he thought. They certainly looked heavy. He couldn’t work out how they weren’t.

“Yeah,” Zitao said. “But then people started making them in really light alloys and materials. People can carry much more than eight kilograms. Finding the room for them will be trickier.”

Joonmyun nodded like he knew what this meant, like it meant something relevant. It had come from Zitao’s mouth so it probably did mean something. Zitao knew lots of things. He _had_ to.

They decided to keep Zitao’s two-man tent to save money, and otherwise picked two three-person tents and one four-person. “We can use the two-person and one three-person,” Sehun said sensibly. “It’ll make it easier for us. We can store everything in the three-person tent.”

The price of the tents sounded expensive to Joonmyun without the added expense of the bags, and then Zitao moved them over to a section of hiking boots and Joonmyun started quaking in his sandals. “This is _so much money_ ,” he gasped. “You really shouldn’t—not for us.”

Zitao shrugged. “Who else am I supposed to spend it all on?” he asked. “It’s for spending.”

Joonmyun had never met a person with such a blasé attitude to money in his life. For someone who had had to steal money to survive, it was a complete shock to his system. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t accept all of this.”

Zitao looked, helplessly, at Sehun, who shrugged. Jongin sighed. “Hyung,” he said, turning to Joonmyun, and reached out to take his hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Joonmyun said, and almost ripped his hand out of Jongin’s, wanting to be away from him, from them. “It’s not. We _can’t_.”

“I want to,” Zitao said softly, looking hurt. “I’ve got far too much money.”

Joonmyun quivered at the easy way he said it, and then he sucked in a deep breath and said, softly, “I can’t repay you.”

“It’s a gift,” Zitao assured him, and reached to take Joonmyun’s other hand. Something made him stop, and he patted Joonmyun’s arm instead. “You don’t have to pay me back.”

“I have to do something for you, though,” Joonmyun said, voice starting to sound panicked. He was panicked, but he thought he usually did a better job of concealing it than this. This was not well-concealed, this was overt horror.

“You don’t,” Zitao said. “Honestly, it’s nice having companions who aren’t this thing,” he added, pointing behind him to where Peach had curled up and gone to sleep in his bag on their walk to the shop.

Joonmyun shook his head, lip almost quivering. He was the oldest. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to fall apart.

“When’s your birthday, Hyung?” Zitao asked gently.

“May,” Joonmyun replied, slightly confused by the question.

“So’s mine,” Zitao said. “The shoes are a late birthday present then. Is that okay?”

Joonmyun meekly nodded his head, feeling terribly childlike. “Thank you,” he mumbled, and knew instantly that whatever meagre reputation he had had before, he didn’t have it anymore.

Zitao had their feet measured and then they all ended up with big, clunky hiking boots. They were solid and brown and felt quite nice on Joonmyun’s feet, though Zitao sighed and said he wished they had more time in which to break them in. Joonmyun didn’t know what that meant, but nodded anyway.

The younger boy didn’t let them see how much everything cost. Joonmyun thought it must have been incredibly expensive, but Zitao didn’t seem to have a problem with that. He handed the shopping out between them and then walked them down the road to another shop which was full of machines.

He gave loose coins to a shop assistant and headed over to one of the machines inside the building. He sat there and took Peach out of his bag. Whilst she was still asleep, he massaged a point on her head and a beam of light all but exploded from her. He then turned to the machine before him and clicked various buttons, opening things on the screen.

“What are you doing?” Joonmyun asked slightly nervously.

“Tuning Peach,” Zitao said. “I’m connecting her to the internet and then I’m going to enhance her sensing abilities.”

Joonmyun nodded and then turned back to Sehun and Jongin who were both looking slightly confused. Sehun moved closer to Zitao, leaning in to ask more specific things, and Jongin smiled softly and pulled Joonmyun to lean against him.

“You look tired, Hyung,” he said quietly.

They couldn’t have been awake for more than five hours, but Joonmyun was a kind of weary tired that he had been for years, the tired that it took more years to grow out of. “I am,” Joonmyun agreed. “I think even my bones are tired.” He let Jongin hold him against him. The support was necessary.

They sat together without talking as Zitao worked on Peach. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Joonmyun thought about anything and everything, and Jongin’s presence against his side was a warm relief. He thought about his childhood. He thought about the escape, the journey. In just a few days, Jongin had gone from being someone he didn’t know at all to someone he trusted enough to share a bed with. This was something he’d never have dealt with back in Thirrum.

“Done!” Zitao exclaimed, a little too loudly as people at other machines turned to look at him with strange expressions on their faces. He seemed to ignore them and picked Peach up, who snuggled closer in her sleep. “We should head home, finish packing, and then we can leave later. Do you want to sleep before we go?”

Joonmyun nodded against Jongin’s shoulder and murmured, “Please.” Jongin rubbed Joonmyun’s side and Joonmyun found himself trying to sink further into his warmth.

Joonmyun managed to stagger out to the bus stop, following his much-more awake companions, Jongin helping to balance him. Once the bus arrived, he collapsed into his seat with a happy sigh and fell asleep on Jongin’s shoulder. He knew he was woken up in order to go back inside, but he didn’t remember anything.

He just knew when he woke up the next day that he was lying on the couch, with a blanket covering him, dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the previous day.

And that there was a body pressed against his back, warm and comforting.

He could get used to this, part of his brain thought.

He lay there for several more minutes, soaking in the atmosphere and his surroundings. It was dark outside, and the house was quiet, which meant he had to be the first awake. It probably wasn’t even time to wake up yet.

He spent the next ten minutes, until Jongin shifted, just trying to imagine the future. He tried to imagine what the other guys looked like, where he’d find them. It was silly and childish, but Joonmyun was turning into a dreamer. He’d spent far too many years as a realist. He quite enjoyed dreaming.

And inside, lying there, he could almost imagine there was no danger. He was sleeping in a friend’s house, and they were going to go around the town, shopping, eating, doing things friends do. Nothing wrong. And he wanted it to be like that so badly that he just let himself think like that. Just for a few moments.

It’s not like it’d hurt anyway.


	9. Level Four

Once everyone was awake, washed, dressed and fed (breakfast was a quick meal of egg rolls), Zitao took them to a room in the house they hadn’t seen before. It was full of weapons. Knives, guns, swords, sticks walled the room. Joonmyun stopped in the doorway and stared.

“How are you able to have all of this?” he asked in wide-eyed bafflement.

Zitao shrugged. “We’ve got licences, me and my brother. Not all of it is very dangerous anyway, I mean look at the wushu sticks.” He indicated a set of wooden sticks and swords. “They’d hurt if they hit you and they might break bones with the right force but it’s not illegal to carry them around. Weapons are good to have if you’re going to be fighting monsters, and we are.” He crossed to a shelf of sheathed swords and took one down, and then took down a thick, slightly curved wooden stick. “These are mine,” he said, and strapped them to his belt, a proper strip of leather around his jeans with a thick buckle at the front. “But you’re free to have anything else.” He paused. “Oh, wait, I’ve got—” He rummaged in a drawer and then pulled out a long, thick stick. “This is a staff,” he said. “It channels power. I used to use it before I got my watch.”

Sehun’s eyes widened when he saw it, and he reached out a hand to take it from Zitao, weighing it in his hands. “It’s perfect,” he breathed.

“In the old magics, staffs and wands were linked with wind,” Zitao said. “So it should be perfect for you.”

Sehun nodded and cradled the staff close to his chest. “I’ll take good care of it,” he said, and Zitao laughed in response.

Jongin walked over to a row of tiny silverware and danced his fingers over two. “These,” he said. “These are nice.”

Joonmyun walked over to look at them. They were a pair of silver daggers, thick and just longer than the span of Jongin’s hand, from heel to fingertip. There were black gemstones set in the hilt. They were pretty, and they suited Jongin. He’d be able to teleport close to monsters, stab them, and teleport away quickly.

“Those are onyx,” Zitao said from behind them. “They improve focus and concentration. And they really do work.”

Jongin nodded without looking at Zitao, and he lifted the daggers and made as if to slide them into his belt, before he realised he didn’t have one. Zitao chuckled and found the three of them belts in one of the drawers, handing them out quickly. Joonmyun had a little difficulty realising how it worked, but soon got the hang of it, sliding the belt through the loops.

Since the other two had picked weapons, Joonmyun was the only one left. He didn’t really know what to do.

“Are you better at ranged fighting or?” Zitao asked, looking at the rows of weapons with a strange, thoughtful expression on his face. “That should help us.”

“Well, I think my water is close-ranged,” Joonmyun said, “but I’d much rather be away from the monsters.”

“Oh,” Zitao said, and he headed over to the guns. He ran his fingers down them, testing the weight and feel of some of them, before he pulled one off the wall. It was small and had a long barrel. “This can use bullets but you can also turn it into a water gun. It has a sealed compartment here so you can fill it with water.” He showed Joonmyun how to open it, and then indicated where the water went. Leaning close to Joonmyun, he whispered, “Let’s give it a go.”

Joonmyun couldn’t see the harm in it, so he dribbled water into the gun, and then Zitao pulled it up to fire at Sehun, who squealed like a little girl and ran to hide behind Jongin, who folded his arms and glared, even as the water hit his chest.

“I like it,” Joonmyun said, taking the gun from Zitao with an approving nod. Jongin kept glaring.

“I don’t,” he said.

Zitao laughed quietly. “He’ll be okay,” he said. “He’s got us.”

Jongin only glared harder. Joonmyun felt honour-bound to go over to him and pat his arm, trying to focus on the patch of water soaking his shirt. He felt his mind pull in a strange way, and then watched as the water evaporated steadily, Jongin’s shirt growing drier.

Once it was dry, the other three looked at Joonmyun in surprise.

“That was different,” Sehun said, and Joonmyun nodded.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” he said, and gave a little half-triumphant, half-bashful smile.

“I’d put it in the backpack. You don’t want to show you’re carrying that,” Zitao said.

They headed back out of the room to collect their belongings and redistribute everything. They carefully placed all their clothing in their new bags, and shared the food out. It made more sense to have it in different bags in case they lost one. Joonmyun snuck his gun in on top, with several boxes of blank and stunning ammunition, even though he wouldn’t use any unless it was an emergency.

Once their bags were ready, they handed out the tents. Joonmyun’s tent was light, and he connected it to his bag quickly. He watched as Jongin studiously attached his tent bag to his backpack, brow furrowed as he focused.

“Your face will stay like that,” Sehun warned, leaning over to pat Jongin’s back, jerking him out of his reverie. Jongin shook his head and his face relaxed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and continued to attach the two bags together.

After this, they all took their hiking boots, and Zitao gave them pairs of thick socks to wear inside. They were all about the same shoe-size so it worked pretty well. The socks were warm and added relief from the fact the boots were new and Zitao had said they would probably cause blisters. Joonmyun had had enough blisters in his life to know that any relief from them would be a good thing.

Once they had attached everything, filled everything, and were appropriately dressed, Zitao grabbed a set of coats from the bottom of the stairs and handed them out to each of them, and then slid two tiny, fat, cylinders into Joonmyun and Sehun’s bags. “In case it rains,” he explained. Then he said, “We’re ready.”

He led them to the front door and outside, and then just down the road to a large building which called itself a bank. Inside, he took out money, and then distributed it between them by placing it in socks. Joonmyun trembled at the weight of the bag he held, having not seen or felt that much money in many, many years. With the help of Jongin, he slid it into his bag before he could refuse it and make a scene.

Then they headed to the bus, which would take them to the outskirts of town. “Where are we going?” Zitao asked, as they settled on the bus.

“Effan,” Joonmyun replied. “And then up to Egra. Hopefully they will have already left.”

Zitao nodded and sat back in his seat. “I hope so,” he said. The “for you, for us,” was unsaid, but Joonmyun could hear it clear as anything.

Joonmyun prayed he was doing the right thing, that he wasn’t leading them to their early deaths. “We need number five,” he said softly. “Once we have him, we’ll be safer. But until then we have to stay on our toes.”

He knew, at least, that leading them to Effan was safer than leading them to Overm. At least this way they wouldn’t get trapped by the guards. Overm was a large parish, and there were lots of places to hide, but they couldn’t stay there forever.

They climbed off the bus once they reached the outskirts, and used Jongin’s father’s compass in order to head in the right direction. It would take them some time to reach Effan, maybe a day and a half, but it was getting on in the day already. They would probably have to sleep on it.

Joonmyun led the way as they began crossing Zyfria, checking the compass steadily as they went. They saw no monsters for the first hour, but then they hit the body of the plains, where monsters were everywhere.

This gave the small group a good excuse to practise their skill with their weapons. Sehun held the staff in front of him as he focused his power, and Zitao spun his wooden stick dangerously. Jongin teleported close to nick the monsters with his daggers, upsetting them.

Joonmyun was too soft-hearted though. He barely managed to shoot jet-streams of water their way, hitting them. The poor animals were just minding their own business usually.

It grew darker as they played and practised, and they had to set up their tents.

“It’s too dark,” Joonmyun grumbled, and then Peach’s voice came from behind them.

“I can do that!” she told them, and the next moment two tents were up.

“Thanks,” Joonmyun said gratefully, and she purred happily.

“Who’s going to share?” Zitao asked.

Jongin opened his mouth to speak, and a strange feeling came over Joonmyun. “I’d like to share with Zitao,” he said, almost shooting it out. “I’ve got a lot of questions.” He deliberately didn’t look at Jongin.

It must have been pretty bad, though, because Sehun, one eyebrow raised, said, “Actually, I’ll stay with you, Hyung. Jongin and Zitao can share. You’re the same age so it’ll be nice for you.”

Jongin’s expression couldn’t have been any better, because Sehun grabbed Joonmyun’s arm quickly and all-but yanked them into the tent, zipping the entrance closed.

“Sorry about that, Hyung,” he said, once they were inside, torches lit and bags on the ground. They were sorting through them to get their sleeping bags and pyjamas; able to change for the first time in days. “I thought Jongin was going to have a heart attack. This way he’ll be able to spend time with Tao, and I think that’ll be good for him.”

Joonmyun nodded in understanding. Jongin had something against Zitao, had since they’d met. Joonmyun didn’t know what it was, but it was quite bothersome and annoying. Then he paused his thinking. “Tao?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sehun looked away, busying himself with straightening out his sleeping bag, but not before Joonmyun could see the red tinge in his cheeks. “He likes it,” Sehun mumbled.

“I’m sure he does,” Joonmyun said, smiling softly, and tugged his shirt over his head, pulling on his sleep shirt. It felt cool and a little threadbare, and he wished he’d had Peach look over them. He shook his head—no time to worry about that now; they could fix it tomorrow. Instead, he removed his jeans and pulled on his pyjama trousers, grateful for their length, and wrapped himself up in his blanket. The tent was an extra barrier against the cold of the weather outside, and Joonmyun was half-pleased he didn’t have to snuggle up to Sehun to be warm, even though he knew it’d be comforting.

Curled up, they talked for a little while—about anything; their dreams, their worries, their hopes—, before drifting off to sleep.

They were woken up by their tent being opened, and Joonmyun quaked a little in his blanket. He didn’t know what it was. It could be anything. Anyone. A monster. But no—monsters couldn’t open zips…

He needn’t have worried, because the next moment Zitao’s face appeared. “Give me my roommate,” he said. “You can have yours back. Sorry, Hyung.” And then he half-shoved Jongin into the tent. “I don’t know how you manage,” he said, shaking his head, and then grabbed a sleepy Sehun’s hand, dragging him out of there and shutting the tent.

Joonmyun blinked at Jongin for a few moments before rolling over to face the wall of the tent. He could hear Jongin settle behind him, although it was stilted, awkward, as if he wasn’t really sure what he should do.

After a while, Jongin breathed, “I’m sorry, Hyung,” in a soft, sad tone. He genuinely sounded sorry. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Joonmyun sighed. Even if he was fine without Jongin, it seemed Jongin was not fine without him. He didn’t really understand it, but he murmured, “It’s okay.”

Jongin stretched out into the gap between them and took Joonmyun’s hand. “Thank you,” he breathed sleepily, and they fell asleep like that, hands entwined.


	10. Level Three

The next day Joonmyun woke up early. He was still holding Jongin’s hand, and he stared at it for a few moments, feeling its warmth around his, before he extricated his and sat up. He scrambled over to the entrance and unzipped the tent, looking outside. It was cold, dark and wet, and there were no signs of movement from the other tent, so he crawled back to bed.

His sleep had been alright. The ground was a little rough after Zitao’s bed and couch, though softer than it had been to sleep directly on the ground. He was also appreciative of not waking up doused in a thin layer of morning dew.

He thought he may have dreamt for a while, but he couldn’t remember what it had been about. It couldn’t have been important. He hoped it hadn’t been important.

Joonmyun got dressed quickly before curling back up in his blanket. That way he would be ready for when they had to pack up and move on. He wouldn’t slow them down.

Jongin, next to him, started making strange whimpering noises in his sleep. Joonmyun wasn’t quite sure whether he was scared or crying or just making noises because he could (anything was possible), so he ignored him until it got so loud and annoying that Joonmyun couldn’t block it out.

When that happened, Joonmyun crawled over to Jongin’s bed and shook his shoulder until he blinked his eyes sleepily. They seemed wet.

He didn’t seem to want to talk about it though, as he rubbed his eyes, dashing the tears away, and steeled his expression. “Time to move?” he asked.

Sometimes Joonmyun forgot that Jongin was a fourteen year old who probably missed his family. He was a child on a mission that was too much, too old, for him. Jongin had always been the one he worried about most, when thinking about this trip. Jongin was far too young and childish.

But when Jongin sat like this, hard-faced and in visible denial, Joonmyun knew there was more to Jongin than his age.

“Not yet,” he said, “but I thought we should get ready.”

He and Jongin packed up their bedding, Jongin folding Sehun’s sleeping bag carefully. They worked in silence, until Joonmyun finally asked the question that had been on his mind since Zitao stole his roommate.

“Why did Zitao switch you for Sehun?”

Jongin visibly bristled, and Joonmyun wondered if he should have sugar-coated it. But a second later Jongin’s shoulders went back to normal and he shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, “so I talked to him. And I don’t think he could sleep with me talking.”

It didn’t sound like something Zitao would do, but he had seemed a bit annoyed when he threw Jongin into the tent. Maybe Jongin wasn’t lying.

“Okay,” Joonmyun said, and then he picked up his bag and crawled outside. It was lighter now, the sun rising up over the far edge of Zyfria.

Joonmyun stared out at the horizon, watching as the sun rose and the monsters of the plains woke up and came out of their holes. At the same time, he absently ran his fingers through the air, the feeling more like he was playing with water than air.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” Jongin said from behind him, and Joonmyun jumped, water splashing down on him, wetting his arms, trousers and boots. “Sorry,” Jongin added. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Joonmyun shook his head. “What was I doing?”

“Forming water in the air,” Jongin said. “Or pulling the moisture out, or something. But there was just water hanging there, like it was sitting on something. It was cool.”

Joonmyun, surprised, focused, trying to do it again—consciously, this time. He stared at the air as he ran his fingers through it, and with the right level of concentration, he found he could make bubbles of water that, when disturbed, burst.

“Useful,” he breathed, realising he had reached a new level of control of his power. He had never been able to do this before. He stuck his hand out and tried to make a bigger bubble.

It was then that Sehun and Zitao emerged from their tent, belongings in hand, Peach trailing them a little sleepily. “Cool,” Zitao said, and Sehun smiled. Joonmyun smiled back.

“I’m getting better,” he said, pleased. “One day I might be able to control it fully.”

They packed up their tents quickly before eating breakfast, which was the last of the fresh food and the start of the trail mix and dried food.

“We need more food,” Joonmyun said. “This will last us until maybe tomorrow.”

Zitao nodded. “Well, we can go hunting,” he said. “Peach can tell us what is edible. I think some of the bird monsters should be okay if we catch them. We can start this afternoon. No point using up the dried food already.”

They headed out across the plains once they had had their fill and sated their thirst. Joonmyun controlled the compass, leading them towards Effan, though he couldn’t help deviating from the path when he realised that the strange coloured patch to the South East of Effan was, in fact, a lake. Joonmyun did like his water, and he knew he would feel better once he was near it.

So he led them towards the water steadily, knowing that once they reached the lake it would be time to set up camp and it wouldn’t matter that they’d deviated. They would be able to get there tomorrow.

As they moved, they practised with their weapons, fought. Joonmyun steadily got better with his aim. Not all monsters were afraid of water, and the ones that weren’t just seemed emboldened by the attacks, which meant Joonmyun had to fall back as his other three party members went in, trying to destroy their enemies. This was easier said than done. Jongin was getting better with his swords, and the staff really did amplify Sehun’s magic, but it was mostly Zitao who saved them, time and time again. Joonmyun wondered if he was getting fed up, but he seemed to take it all with strange cheeriness.

“Another one down,” Zitao almost chirped as he knocked out a strange creature with the flat of his blade. Peach said it was called an amphisbaena. It was a giant snake with two heads, one at either end, and was particularly gruesome. Joonmyun’s water had only strengthened it, and Sehun’s wind did nothing, so it had been up to Zitao and Jongin to knock it out.

Each time they knocked out, or killed, a monster, Joonmyun felt this little surge, little rush, of adrenaline, almost like he could feel himself getting stronger, getting better at it all. It must have been the experience, he thought. It was a little like magic.

Jongin stuck to Joonmyun’s side for most of the journey, but eventually he must have got sick of Joonmyun’s quietness and obviously distasteful conversation—after the fifth time Joonmyun started a sentence with “Zitao”, Jongin refused to talk to him for forty minutes—because he walked over to where Sehun was almost attached to Zitao’s hip, jabbering on about something to do with Mavia and home and watches, and dragged their youngest away, mid-sentence. Sehun protested, flapping his arms in a little (adorable) unpleased way, but he didn’t really seem too angry.

Joonmyun took this advantage to slink over to Zitao. Suddenly all the things that had been in his mind all day—all the things he wanted to ask Zitao—left his mind, and all that remained was, “So, why did you steal Sehun?”

Zitao chuckled. “Hyung, you wouldn’t understand,” he said lightly.

“Try me,” Joonmyun countered, frowning.

Zitao shrugged. “He doesn’t like me,” he began, and then shook his head. “No. Okay, so, I like sleeping with Sehun. He doesn’t try to stab me in my sleep, and he doesn’t jabber on about people he—well, people. And I couldn’t sleep with all Jongin’s waffling, and I think it made me irritable. I knew that switching him for you would be an unmitigated disaster so I thought Sehun was better. I’m sorry.” He paused again. “Jongin really doesn’t like me.”

“So I’ve heard,” Joonmyun agreed. Zitao’s story made sense. It explained Zitao’s annoyance, and why he’d picked Sehun. It didn’t, however, explain why Zitao didn’t think he’d understand. “I’m sure I’d have made a good roommate though,” he argued. “I don’t snore and I keep my hands to myself and I know when to shut up.”

“Always good, Hyung,” Zitao said absently, looking over at Jongin and Sehun, who were attempting to playfully stab each other with sticks, and he gave a strange dazed sort of smile.

Peculiarly, Joonmyun understood what that look meant, and there was a tingling that spread through his body that he couldn’t describe, but he knew he didn’t like the feeling, and he didn’t like the look. He’d seen it enough times back in Thirrum to know what it meant. He didn’t want to lose them before he’d even knew them well.

But even so, it made perfect sense. They’d been spending time together. And Sehun never looked quite so happy as when he was with Zitao. “Tao”, he’d said. Joonmyun wondered if he knew. He wondered if anything was happening.

Joonmyun wanted to say something to appease the awkwardness, but what came out was, “So, Sehun, eh?” and a soft smile.

Zitao whipped back round to face him, eyes wide, body wired, but then he settled when he saw Joonmyun’s smile, and he nodded. “He’s wonderful,” he said. It was a strange choice of word—Joonmyun couldn’t ever imagine calling anyone “wonderful”, but then again, he wasn’t in love.

Joonmyun just kept smiling. He knew he should reply, but he just couldn’t find the words. What should he say to that? What did one say when they found out one of their friends liked another one? “You’d look good together,” he finally said, after a pause that was perhaps too long. Zitao smiled back at him in seeming gratefulness, and Joonmyun felt like there was something very strange in his body, and he walked faster, examining the compass too closely to be of use, until Jongin ran back over, grabbing Joonmyun as he moved, Sehun hot on his heels.

They ran for some time, Jongin never letting Joonmyun go. Joonmyun would never admit that the feeling of Jongin’s skin against him was a comfort for him in ways Jongin would never know. He would never tell him how much better he felt after their run.

They stopped for a late lunch only a couple of miles away from the lake. Joonmyun collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the sky and feeling like all his limbs had turned to jelly.

Jongin seemed to take this as an invitation, because he flopped onto the ground next to Joonmyun and all but draped himself over Joonmyun. Sehun took the other side, collapsing there, and they lay almost like they had that first night on the plains—Sehun and Jongin sandwiching Joonmyun. He was warm, trapped between them, and he smiled.

Zitao, as the only person not collapsed on the ground (even Peach had taken it upon herself to curl up on the grass), was therefore left with the honours of handing out trail mix for lunch. It was a dismal meal that did little to curb any hunger Joonmyun was feeling after running across the plains and attacking monsters.

“When we set up camp,” he said, “we need to go hunting.”

Jongin nodded. “I’m hungry,” he grumbled. “This food did nothing.” He groaned and frowned. Jongin, it seemed, did not take kindly to being hungry. Joonmyun thought he had little right to act like this. He wasn’t the one who’d grown up starving. Then again, starving had conditioned Joonmyun in such a way it no longer affected his moods. Jongin was a child used to being fed three square meals at the same time each day, so breaking the routine and having to live off little food was not good for him or for his temperament. “How long until we get there?” he whined.

Joonmyun looked at his map. “I think we should camp around here—it’ll be safer around this water,” he said, indicating the lake. “We’re about here.” He indicated the right area. “It’ll probably take us around three hours to get there, so it won’t be very dark. We’ll have time to set up our tents and go hunting.”

Sehun and Zitao nodded as Joonmyun said this. “Sounds like a plan,” Sehun said. “Does this mean we get an early night?” he added, a little eagerly.

“Sure,” Joonmyun replied. “What do you think?” he asked, turning to Zitao. “Do you think we’ve got the time to sleep earlier?”

“Sure,” Zitao said. “Going by the times that you told me, and our expected direction of the guards, I’d say we’ve got time.”

“Though, if they’re out in Zyfria, won’t they head for the lake? They know you’re drawn to water,” Jongin asked. It was a good idea. Joonmyun ignored him.

“He’s actually right,” Zitao said, which somehow only seemed to make Jongin bristle more.

“What do you mean, _actually_?” Jongin muttered, grimacing.

Joonmyun frowned, feeling petulant—all he wanted was to just go next to the water, maybe swim a little. The guards weren’t going to find them if they slept next to a lake any more than they would find them out in the open. He folded his arms grumpily as he walked.

Because of this, the mood dropped considerably and they walked in silence for the next few hours, avoiding monsters whenever they could, until in the distance, Joonmyun could see pale blue horizon. Water. He perked up instantly and began running, dodging snakes and birds somewhat easily because he was a man on a mission—a mission to get to that water and to feel it soak into his skin.

There was a difference between showers and bodies of water. Showers were nice, what with the contact of the water, but it never stayed and Joonmyun couldn’t collect it. Bodies of water were something else. They could be stagnant or moving. Joonmyun could soak and could collect it and he just felt at home in them.

He got to the lake first and struggled to pull his clothes off before he fell into the cold, feeling it soak around his skin with icy pleasure. The water was a little too cold for comfort but Joonmyun could deal with the pain for the joy of being in water.

Until something nibbled on his toes.

Joonmyun shrieked, scrabbling at the edge of the bank of the lake for purchase before pulling himself out and examining his toes, which were red and definitely chewed-on. He wrinkled his nose and stared at the water, sifting through the surface levels until his could see large shapes swimming underwater. He was probably lucky they hadn’t taken chunks out of his body. For all he knew, they could be sharks.

It was during his pouting that the other three turned up.

“What happened, Boss?” Sehun asked, kneeling next to Joonmyun.

“Something bit me,” Joonmyun grumbled. “It’s not safe water.” He sighed and held his hand above the liquid, feeling some of it lift, evaporate, soak into his skin, run down his leg veins to soothe his sore toes. It was something he had done before, especially when he knew he wasn’t going to get a bath for some time. He didn’t know how he knew how to do it, but he did. Water in his skin, body, blood, soothed him. It worked his heart better. He wondered if Sehun felt that way, too, feeling the air around them constantly. It would certainly explain why Sehun was so strong.

Joonmyun began to shiver, and that was when he realised he hadn’t put his clothes back on again. He tried to soak up the rest of the wetness so he could, but his body protested with exhaustion. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d worn dry clothes on a wet body. He hadn’t been able to soak up moisture before. He stretched out a hand to his t-shirt, and then felt something be draped around his shoulders. He looked up to see Jongin stepping back, a soft smile on his face and worry clear in his eyes. He’d wrapped Joonmyun in his blanket.

Joonmyun huddled up in the blanket for a few moments until the other three turned away, beginning to set up the tents for later, and then he scrambled to get his wet underwear off and get redressed when nobody was looking. Then he curled up in the blanket again, Peach settling in the folds at his feet, and watched them painstakingly plug the poles into the ground, learning as they were doing it.

Once the tents were up, much later, Zitao said, “I’ll go and hunt something for us to eat. Joonmyun-hyung, just stay here and relax.”

“I’ll stay, too,” Jongin said, looking over at Joonmyun with a strange expression on his face that Joonmyun couldn’t decipher.

“I’ll go with Zitao-hyung,” Sehun said, and Joonmyun raised an eyebrow at that, because he was “Tao” yesterday, no honorifics at all, but he didn’t say anything. “I could help.”

“Okay,” Zitao said, “and we’ll get some firewood, too,” and they headed out with Peach and Joonmyun’s compass, aiming for a small patch of trees where, they reasoned, some birds might live.

This left Joonmyun and Jongin alone to watch over the camp. They didn’t speak for the first thirty minutes, although Jongin opened his mouth a few times as if he were going to say something, only to shut it again.

“I wonder whether they’ve found anything,” Joonmyun finally said, if only to break the silence.

Jongin shrugged. “I’m sure Sehun will have,” he said. “He’s good like that.”

Joonmyun nodded. “They’re a good team. I think their powers work well together. Sehun catches it, Zitao stops time, together they can capture or kill it.”

Jongin frowned, but said, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“I wonder what it’s like to be able to stop time. I mean, it’s pretty cool, isn’t it? The ability to just stop everything. His life must be hard though. And he must be older than he should be. I wonder if you can stop time for years.”

Jongin shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that goes against nature and logic. The exertion of holding time would kill you.” He paused. “Maybe we should experiment.”

Joonmyun jolted. “Jongin!” he all but shouted. “How could you say something like that? That’s horrible.”

Jongin shrugged. “I don’t like him,” he said. “He doesn’t add anything.”

“Sehun likes him, and I like him,” Joonmyun said. “He’s useful, he’s clever, he’s talented, he knows how to help. He gave us weapons and money. And you think he’s not useful?”

Jongin bristled the more Joonmyun spoke, standing up, until his annoyance and discomfort was written all over his body, limbs pulled to like a cat about to bolt. “And I’m not?” he asked quietly.

Joonmyun hadn’t said that, hadn’t meant that. “You’re useful too,” he tried. “You and Sehun. You’re both good at—”

Jongin interrupted with, “I wasn’t talking about Sehun.” His voice was low, body even more wired than before.

Joonmyun shrugged. “I was just trying to say that it’s not that Zitao is _better_ but—”

“But he’s better,” Jongin finished for him. “I know how it is. I know how you look at him.”

Joonmyun furrowed his brow in confusion. How he—what? “What?” he echoed his thoughts softly.

“I know. You don’t hide it,” Jongin said. “It’d just be—.” He broke off, shaking his head sadly. And then he sucked in a huge, deep breath, and shot out, fists clenched, “But I’ve done so much for you, Hyung, and it’s like you don’t even see me.”

Joonmyun’s brow furrowed even more as Jongin’s words entered his consciousness. He didn’t understand—how could he understand? What was Jongin even saying? “Jongin—” he began, and Jongin jerked.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t call me that. I’m Kai.”

But Jongin had been fine with it the whole time before, so why the change? He seemed to hate it when Sehun called him Kai. Joonmyun scrambled to his feet, the blanket dropping to the ground as he moved. “Hey,” he began. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Jongin said. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it. I can’t _do_ this. I’m sorry.”

“Jongin,” Joonmyun tried again, worry flooding his body. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? Jongin?” The more he talked, the more strained Jongin’s body became, awkward and boyish and utterly catlike, and he could see tears bubbling up in Jongin’s eyes, and Joonmyun just didn’t _understand_.

“Jongin?” he tried again, because Jongin was crying, and that wasn’t good, and he reached out to take Jongin’s hand, and his hand never made it there because Jongin almost flew at him, tears spilling over.

For a brief moment he thought Jongin was going to attack him, but then Jongin’s mouth, and—

It took Joonmyun several beats to realise it was a kiss, and that although he didn’t really understand why, he wasn’t really against it. He’d never kissed anyone before, but he did his best then, trying to convey—something, anything, some sort of comfort for Jongin, who clearly needed it.

Jongin made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat, jerked back, away from Joonmyun, and then he was just _gone_.

A pain spread through Joonmyun’s wrist like someone had ripped it open, cut part of it away, and he screamed, knees weakening. He dropped to the ground, body aching all over, his soul crying—no, wait, those were human tears, splattering on the ground before him—and his heart feeling like someone had bored a hole through it, and through it all, he dimly registered what was wrong.

There were only two symbols on his right wrist, and the other had been cut clear away.

Off in the distance, he heard the triumphant noise of a trumpet.


	11. Level Three

Kim Jongin arrived home, in the dining room, during his family’s dinner.

His father was the first to see him, and he stopped eating, fork paused mid-air. “Jongin?” he asked.

Jongin, who had tears streaking down his cheeks, raised a shaky hand to smudge them away. He hiccoughed and had the strange urge to run to his mother and cry as she held him. Instead, he spun to face the door and pulled the door handle, racing up the stairs to his room. Once he reached it, the atmosphere seeming cold and sterile even though he’d only been away a week, he threw himself onto the bed and cried into his duvet, hugging his pillow close. The softness was comforting and familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t Joonmyun, and it wasn’t Joonmyun’s warmth he was clutching onto, and that only made him cry harder.

He’d kissed him. He hadn’t been able to help himself. Joonmyun had just looked at him in that way he did when he was worried, and he’d looked kind of protective and yet somehow really handsome without even knowing it. Joonmyun was underweight and fragile and Jongin always thought he’d break him if he was too rough with him, but he was still attractive to Jongin.

Joonmyun had said his name, and Jongin had convinced himself not to listen. He knew what it did to him when Joonmyun said it. The feelings would rush up, fill his body. His limbs would twitch. He couldn’t take Joonmyun calling him his real name. It would be far safer if he’d call him Kai but he just _wouldn’t_. And Jongin hadn’t been able to take it—take the feelings. So he’d kissed him.

And Joonmyun had kissed back.

Jongin had no experience in this. His mother had always wanted him to find a nice girl to settle down with, but he was only fourteen, and had two more years to go before he was supposed to be married. Sure, there had been girls he’d liked the look of. When he’d been eight, he had informed his mother he was going to marry Choi Jinri, and he’d liked her for a good year, until her parents found a rich farmer willing to pay twice the money Jongin’s parents would offer for her hand. After her, there had been others. There had.

But none of them had given him the feelings he got when he saw Joonmyun. He wanted Joonmyun so badly. For days all he’d wanted to do were just stop, take Joonmyun’s hand, and kiss him, just there in the middle of the plains. He wanted to be Joonmyun’s cushion, to protect him, to look after him. He had had these feelings almost since the day he met Joonmyun. He was probably too young to feel love yet, he knew that, but these were the closest he could imagine to love. He adored Joonmyun. He existed for Joonmyun. He wanted Joonmyun to exist for him, too.

Except Joonmyun liked _Zitao_. Stupid Zitao, with his tallness and his martial arts and his experience and his kindness and his cuddliness and his attractiveness and—

Jongin hated him. He’d told him, when they were together in the tent.

“I don’t like you,” he’d said. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t like it. It’s not going to get past me.”

Zitao had played innocent, like he didn’t know what Jongin was on about, but Jongin knew it was only a ruse. Play innocent, act like Jongin was the mean one, so Joonmyun would comfort him. Jongin knew it well because he wanted to do the same thing. But Zitao said he didn’t dislike Jongin, he _admired_ him. Jongin didn’t know for what. He didn’t want to know. It couldn’t be real.

And now Jongin had left. He’d had enough of Zitao’s stupid stupidity and Joonmyun’s naïveté and he’d left, pulled away—he’d felt the snap of separation when he left.

He hadn’t really been able to take it away from home. Jinhee had been right. He was only a child. He couldn’t last away from home. He’d fallen at the first hurdle. The first sign of a problem, he’d ripped himself from Joonmyun mid-kiss, ripping them apart with a pain he could still feel in his heart, just as Joonmyun was starting to—

He’d been kissing him back, Jongin realised, and a lump rose in his throat, tears beading at the edge of his eyes again. Joonmyun had kissed him too, and Jongin briefly entertained this thought by imagining what Joonmyun’s face had been like—he’d have looked like he was concentrating really hard, and he was probably cross-eyed trying to see Jongin. He’d have looked cute, Jongin thought.

But that wasn’t the important bit. Joonmyun had been kissing him and he’d _left_.

Jongin rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “A night away will do me good,” he said aloud. “I can go back tomorrow.” He hoped he’d be able to go back. But then again, did he want to go back? Regardless of whether Joonmyun had been kissing him or not—was it enough for him to be able to put up with Zitao? He wasn’t sure, because he knew there was always the chance that Joonmyun didn’t really like him anyway. And he didn’t want to be a substitute.

He looked down at his wrist. His mark was still there, though raised and inflamed, angry redness seeping through the mark. He wondered what Joonmyun’s wrist was like. Maybe the area where his mark was would be raised too, angry skin pulled over the little thin bones.

It was as he was pondering this that his mother entered the room with a tray of soup and sandwiches. She put the plate on Jongin’s bedside table and perched on the edge of his bed. “Honey?”

Jongin sighed and sat up. “Umma…” he breathed.

“Why did you leave Joonmyun?” she asked gently.

Jongin supposed it must be pretty obvious. He shrugged. “It hurt,” he mumbled. “We’ve got a new companion. Zitao. Tall, handsome, clever, has money. And Joonmyun likes him. It hurt.” He paused. “It hurts.”

His mother sighed. “Have you tried talking to Joonmyun about it? Or even Zitao?”

Jongin winced and curled up into a tight ball. “Sort-of,” he mumbled. “I was trying to tell Hyung when I left but it didn’t really work out that way.” He bit his lip. “Umma, I like him _so much_.”

She gave a soft smile. “I can tell,” she said gently. “And maybe he likes you too. You didn’t have to run away. Does he even know?”

Jongin raised a hand to his lips absently. “Sort-of,” he repeated.

His mother sighed again. “Oh, Jongin…” She shook her head. “Jongin, you need to go back. You made a promise to that boy, to see this through with him, to protect him. What will happen if you’re not there?”

“I can’t,” Jongin said, tears spilling over, and thinking that he was right—he couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t stand seeing their expressions when they saw him. They’d think he was weak. “I can’t, not now.”

“You can,” his mother said. “What if Joonmyun dies?”

It was like she’d reached through his chest and squeezed his heart until the blood couldn’t get to it. It was beating frantically, erratically, and it hurt. It hurt so much that he started sobbing. Joonmyun couldn’t die—but Jongin couldn’t be there. He was conflicted.

He choked out, “He won’t. He _can’t_.”

His mother shook her head. “Joonmyun’s not immortal, Jongin. The prophecy given was that the more members you found, the more protected he’d be, was it not? How many are there now?”

“Three,” Jongin said.

“Four has to be better than three. Losing one might even have set off a catalyst. You need to be back there, for him. You need to do your part to save Pathalff. We’re counting on you, Jongin. Not just Joonmyun. You, as well. You’re more important than you realise.”

It was what Jongin needed to hear. He found himself nodding. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Eat something and then sleep on it. You can go back tomorrow morning,” she said, and patted his leg gently, before kissing him on his forehead.

He did as she said, eating the meal, the soup soothing his stomach and the sandwich providing much-needed sustenance, before drifting off to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had taken Sehun and Zitao some time to catch a couple of birds for their dinner. Then they broke some dry twigs from trees and picked up what had dropped to the ground, and headed back to the camp, chatting as they went, but not too loudly—they didn’t want to disturb the peace. Taozi, Peach, who had been of no use at all (except that she had tried to eat their kills), curled up and went to sleep on the twigs.

It was whilst they were walking back that Zitao felt a chill race through him. Something was very wrong, but he didn’t know what it was. He tried to shake it away. “Do you think they were okay whilst we were away?” he asked Sehun, worrying his lip.

Sehun shrugged. “I’m sure we’d have heard if they weren’t.”

Zitao nodded his head, trying to believe Sehun was right. He resisted the urge to clamp onto the other boy. It was probably nothing. Just his overactive imagination.

They grew closer to the camp. Their tents were still there, where they’d placed them. They didn’t look like they’d been disturbed. That was a relief, and Zitao felt himself relax slightly. Something was still gnawing at him.

But when the camp was just a few yards ahead, he could see Sehun’s shoulders stiffen, and he followed Sehun’s gaze to a small lump on the ground. It was bent over and unmoving and fear gripped Zitao—oh no, no, no…

He ran the rest of the way. As he grew even closer, he could see it was Joonmyun, and that he was alive, but—he couldn’t explain it. It seemed like Joonmyun was comatose. When he knelt next to him and waved his hand in front of him, Joonmyun didn’t register him. The ground before him was stained, though Zitao couldn’t tell what with.

“Where’s Jongin?” Sehun asked, running behind him. “Surely he’d have done something?”

“Check the tents,” Zitao suggested.

He could hear Sehun run around, checking the tents. “He’s not here,” Sehun said. “His pack is still here, but he’s not anywhere.”

“Did you have a fight?” Zitao asked Joonmyun softly. “Hyung, Hyung, what happened?” He reached over and tried to lift one of Joonmyun’s hands, and that’s when he saw Joonmyun’s wrist. He recoiled in revulsion, and fell backwards in his haste to get away.

“What happened, Hyung?” Sehun asked, hearing him fall over, and he ran back over.

Zitao had to collect himself before he could speak, tamping down the urge to be sick. “Jongin’s symbol is missing,” he said. It was more than missing. It was like it had been carved out with a knife. Part of Joonmyun’s skin was missing.

“What?” Sehun asked, freezing. “No! No, where is he? He can’t be—” There were tears bubbling up in Sehun’s eyes. Zitao leant up to take his hand, because he knew what Sehun was thinking. He was thinking it too. He couldn’t imagine many reasons for Jongin’s symbol to be missing. Jongin loved Joonmyun. But what if he’d been killed?

“I know,” Zitao said, swallowing his own tears. He hadn’t known Jongin for very long, and Jongin seemed to want to make his life a misery. But Zitao actually liked what little of Jongin he knew, and he knew he’d be good for Joonmyun, and he didn’t want him to be dead.

“But what if he’s—?” Sehun stopped himself, but his eyes betrayed him, drifting towards the lake. Zitao swallowed hard again, trying not to think of Jongin’s body at the bottom of the lake.

“No,” he said, “don’t think like that. What if he just went home?”

“And leave—everything?” Sehun said. “Why would he do that?”

Zitao took a deep breath, knowing that Sehun wasn’t going to like what he said next. “Jongin isn’t strong,” he said. “He’s scared. He doesn’t want to die. And he misses his family. So maybe he just…” He shrugged. “Went home.”

Sehun dragged his hand out of Zitao’s, throwing his arms wide. “Why would he do that to us? Why would he do that to Hyung? Why is his symbol missing?”

As if lifted from a trance, Joonmyun pulled himself into an upright position, clapped a hand over his wrist and said, “Jongin’s gone. He left. That’s it. He’s not dead. He just left.”

“But why?” Sehun asked. “I don’t understand why.”

“He couldn’t take it anymore,” Joonmyun said, and then he turned and went into his tent.

“Hyung!” Zitao called after him. “At least eat something!”

“I’m not hungry,” Joonmyun’s voice said softly, and then his tent zipped shut.

Sehun and Zitao sat in silence for some time, both thinking, before Zitao decided that enough was enough, and he was rather hungry, anyway. He had never cooked a bird before, but he figured it couldn’t be too much different from cooking rabbit; skin it, cook it. He took out his pocketknife and began to scoop under the feathers, trying to cut them away like the skin of an animal. It was not as easy as it sounded, but half an hour later he had a clean, but bloody, bird. He cut it open to cut out its innards, and then set a fire going with some matches, setting the bird over the fire to cook.

Sehun, who had run away in horror the moment Zitao began to de-feather the bird, came out when it smelled cooked, and they ate silently. It was the best meal they had had for days, and Zitao felt much better for it. They kept some of it for Joonmyun to eat, and Zitao set about cleaning the other bird, in order to give them some cold meat to eat the next day.

Sehun headed off to bed. All the stress had made him tired, he said. Zitao nodded and wished him goodnight, but stayed up, finishing off the bird and carefully packing it so it would cool down overnight, before heading into their tent. He got ready for bed and then tried to sleep, but it was impossible. His heart was still beating too quickly and his brain was too busy, and he couldn’t sleep. Every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was Joonmyun, curled up on the floor, wrist cut open, blood draining.

He didn’t want to wake Sehun or Taozi, and he didn’t think it would help him anyway, so he pulled his boots on for extra warmth, snuck out of the tent, and opened Joonmyun’s.

It was dark inside, but Zitao could instantly tell Joonmyun wasn’t asleep. He was sitting up, back against one of the tent poles. His knees were pulled to his chin, and Zitao could hear sniffling, like Joonmyun was crying.

“Hyung?” Zitao asked, voice trembling. “Hyung, is it okay—?” He broke off and just entered the tent and crossed to sit beside Joonmyun.

Joonmyun lasted barely half a minute before pulling him close, pulling Zitao’s face into his neck.

Strangely enough, though, it wasn’t Joonmyun who did the crying, but Zitao. He couldn’t help himself. He’d just been so scared that something really bad had happened to them. So he cried, and he cried, until he was all cried out, and he felt much better for it. Once he’d finished, he pulled back, and Joonmyun kissed his forehead gently, smoothing away his tears like his mother had, so long ago, and Zitao felt his heart swell with affection for the older boy who only had room in his heart to love the others, even though he was probably scared and he didn’t know any of them well.

“Sleep here with me,” Joonmyun breathed.

Zitao nodded instinctively, and moved Sehun’s sleeping bag over to Joonmyun’s blanket, and he curled up as close as he could get to Joonmyun, feeling desperately like a small child whose parents had just split up. Because that was the impression he got from Joonmyun and Jongin, even though Jongin was younger than he was. They were just so cute together. Jongin always wanted to make Joonmyun happy, and Joonmyun was both more mature than usual, and more innocent, when he was with Jongin. They were good for each other. And if Joonmyun was their mother figure, Jongin should, technically, be their father figure. A very young and immature father, but a father all the same.

As he drifted off, Zitao found himself asking, “Is Dad coming back? Do you think he will?”

Joonmyun, strangely, didn’t seem fazed by his use of the title, and Zitao wondered if he’d even heard it. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I hope so. I really hope so.”

And Zitao knew that Joonmyun needed Jongin. Without him, he wasn’t complete, just as Jongin surely couldn’t be complete without Joonmyun. Zitao had only ever met two people who were as right for each other as those two were once before. His parents. And they had died for each other, and died to save him. Together. It was only right that his replacement parents were the two people who resembled them so much.

Zitao fell asleep dreaming about his parents, and knew, when he woke up, that things would be better, and that they didn’t mind that he’d gained substitute parents, because as long as he was happy, they were happy.

But in order to be happy, he needed Jongin there, and that was something he was lacking.


	12. Level Four

Zitao was the first to wake the next day, to find his head snuggled under Joonmyun’s chin, and his own arms clasped tightly around the older boy’s waist, and he had the feeling Joonmyun’s hands were in his hair. There was an anomalous pair of extra arms around Zitao’s waist and warmth along his spine, and when he craned his neck to look behind him, he found Sehun, deep in sleep and comfortable against him. Almost absently, Zitao reclined against Sehun, finding comfort in his hold in a way Joonmyun could never give him.

Zitao hadn’t immediately felt this way with Sehun, but his feelings had quickly grown. Jongin was too busy paying attention to every word Joonmyun said and Joonmyun was too busy being oblivious to life to really pay him attention, and Sehun was like the best friend Zitao had never had. Within a day of meeting them, Zitao knew parts of Sehun’s life he’d never known about anyone, like how Sehun lived in a big house all on his own and yet somehow wasn’t scared. Sehun’s parents had been dead a long time, though Sehun didn’t bring up how. Zitao had a vague, sinking suspicion that Sehun had watched them die, but Sehun hadn’t seemed to want to be comforted.

In return, Zitao shared parts of his life with Sehun. He shared how all he did when he was sad and scared was play the guitar and sing quietly, how when he was bullied as a child his mother had suggested he learn wushu—and how he felt stronger because of it, and more in control. He shared how he hated living in his house when Wu Fan was away with his dragons (which was scarily frequent, now Zitao was growing up), and how Wu Fan had given him Taozi as a gift to him for when he was lonely and alone. The fact she was magical was a bonus. Wu Fan had one himself, in tiny unchanging dragon form, called Kanada, and Zitao was almost convinced that Taozi had a crush on him.

Zitao lay there and mused for some time before Joonmyun stirred. Together, they sat up, smiling shyly at each other. Joonmyun began to get dressed and reluctantly Zitao slipped out to head back to his own tent.

The sun was high in the sky, signalling they’d slept much longer than they’d intended to. Jongin was nowhere to be seen and something gripped at Zitao’s chest. He knocked it away and climbed into his tent, where Taozi was looking around frantically for him.

“Baba~,” she whimpered, running up to him, and he scratched her behind her ears, cuddling her close. It was easy to forget she was just a baby, sometimes.

“I was with Joonmyun-oppa,” he told her. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

She curled up next to him as he got dressed, and he was just lifting the cooked bird for their breakfast when Sehun appeared.

“Morning,” Zitao said, and Sehun nodded, yawning, before beginning to get dressed. Zitao let his eyes linger for a moment as Sehun pulled his shirt off before turning away and leaving the tent, carrying their breakfast.

Joonmyun was sitting in front of his tent, bag packed, and Zitao smiled and held out the skinned, cleaned bird. The older boy broke off a section and nearly tore into it. After skipping dinner, he must have been ravenous.

Zitao opened his mouth to say something—possibly about Jongin—when Joonmyun began speaking first.

“We should move on,” he said softly. “Pack up and go. We’ve been here too long.”

“But—” Zitao began, eyes wide in surprise. What about Jongin? What were they going to do about him?

“He’d be here already if he was coming back,” Joonmyun said. “It’s not safe for us. Yesterday I heard trumpets. I knew they were signalling about me. They’re getting closer, Zitao. They can’t be more than a day away.”

“And we’re heading back towards them,” Zitao said softly. “Wouldn’t it be better to go to Egra?”

“It’ll take us longer to get there,” Joonmyun said. “We don’t have time. We should be able to hide in Effan at least somewhere. And if there’s any special being in the world, any kind of god, there will be a companion in Effan, for us. I’ll feel safer when we’ve got someone else with us.”

Zitao nodded. “Understandably,” he said softly. He’d feel safer as well.

“Can’t we stop time to get there before the soldiers?” Sehun asked, emerging from his tent. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Zitao shook his head. “I can’t hold time for very long,” he said. “Trying to stop time for that far and that long would probably kill me. I wouldn’t be able to hold the guards. There are too many of them, and who knows what powers they have.”

After Sehun had eaten, they began to get ready to leave. Between the three of them, and some magical help from Taozi, they took down the tents and set out solidly towards Effan. It wouldn’t take them long, Joonmyun thought.

But fate was conspiring against them. Every inch of land they crossed held a new monster, a new challenge, and Joonmyun sometimes threw himself at them, and sometimes stood there and stared up at them with glazed eyes whilst Zitao and Sehun fought. There seemed to be no logic to his wavering reactions, but Zitao thought however Joonmyun tried to convince them he was fine, he clearly wasn’t. He was falling apart, and there was nothing Zitao could do except keep his fingers crossed that Jongin would return, and soon.

 

 

 

Jongin woke up early, and the first thing he did was throw himself into a nice, warm shower, and drag his jeans back on again afterwards. Wearing the clothes Peach had got for them was strange, but familiar, and ultimately reminded him of Joonmyun. He couldn’t wait to see his face again. He’d dreamed about him, and his reaction to seeing him again, and he felt excited. He’d be better this time. He wouldn’t quit at the first hurdle. And he’d make Joonmyun love him.

At breakfast his strange clothes gained some comment. His sisters had never seen anything like them before, and they kept touching his legs, trying to discern what the material was. He couldn’t answer them, because he didn’t know.

After he was sated, he gave his mother a quick hug, and tried to teleport. He thought of the campsite, of Joonmyun’s face, of the mission.

Nothing happened.

It was the first time anything like that had ever happened, and he felt incredibly uncomfortable. He’d always been able to teleport. He couldn’t believe that now, when he needed to be able to the most, nothing was happening.

He tried again and again, thinking of the nearby locations, of Mepsal, of Zitao’s house in Harrif, and every time nothing happened. Jongin twitched with panic.

“Umma,” he cried out, “Umma, it’s not working. I can’t teleport.”

She told him to calm down, and to teleport within the house, to test it still worked.

It didn’t.

Fear struck him. Was he normal now? Had his powers gone? Had leaving Joonmyun somehow done this?

He didn’t know how to be a normal, human boy. He’d been able to teleport since he was three days old and had been hungry, and he had just teleported himself to his mother, just like that. He’d been told that, to her credit, she’d just shrugged it off. After all, Jongin’s father had already told her their son would be able to teleport. It had just been a matter of waiting to see when it manifested.

The idea that Jongin might be _normal_ now, after so long, was horrifying. It was like he’d lost part of himself. As a human he was useless, boring. He couldn’t be Kai like that, and he knew that Kai, when he surfaced, was more useful than Jongin.

It was a thing Sehun had come up with, a long, long time ago. Kai. Sehun had never told him what it meant, but Jongin had adopted it, for wearing the name made him feel strong and powerful. Soon the people of the neighbouring houses knew them as Sehun and Kai, the troublemakers, and Kai was happy to fulfil that role. Every scheme, every plan, every plot, was Kai’s work, not Jongin’s. It was almost like they were two separate people sharing a body.

Jongin couldn’t cope without his power.

He sunk to the ground. “I can’t,” he breathed. “I can’t go back. There’s something stopping me.”

His mother bit her lip, worry clear across her face. “Oh dear,” she breathed. “I heard something about this yesterday. There’s a magic suppression being used here.”

Jongin froze. “So it’s being supressed? I can’t go back?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ll have to walk.”

He spent the rest of the morning collecting food for them, spurred on by thoughts of _his_ Joonmyun, and how all he wanted to do was hold him close and apologise for being so stupid.

 

 

 

It was mid-afternoon when the giant bird flew down and landed before them. It was enormous, almost as big as a dragon, and its beak was dark and savage. The bird’s feathers were oil black and there was this strange feeling of absolute evil seeping out of every centimetre of it.

Zitao knew that this bird wasn’t just brought by evil, it was created by evil. It _was_ evil.

It had to be working for the soldiers. There was no way that a bird this big could even exist without working for the enemy.

There were only three of them, versus this giant bird. Zitao shut his eyes and said a brief prayer. They weren’t going to make it. There was no way they could trick it, could get around it. They didn’t have Jongin to teleport away from it, and it was much larger. If they ran, it would catch them.

This was it.

Then he signalled to Sehun to try to trap the bird. They had to try. Whatever it’d take.

The bird ripped itself out of Sehun’s grasp, and Zitao couldn’t get a hold on it in order to stop it. And his watch burned when he touched it. He couldn’t do it.

“I don’t know what it’s weak to!” Taozi gasped, trying to focus on the bird and clearly finding it painful. “It doesn’t exist. No database has word of it.” She paused. “But I think it might be water.”

Joonmyun, as if spurred on by her words, ran up to it.

It was if time stopped for Zitao, and that time wasn’t stopped by him.

Someone screamed, “No!” off in the distance, as if from down a tunnel somewhere. It took Zitao a moment to realise it was him.

Joonmyun, somewhat bravely, shot the bird at close range with his full power, hands palm out. The bird writhed in anger and agony and it lashed out with a large, taloned foot, and slashed Joonmyun open right down his chest. There was blood, so much blood. Joonmyun pressed his hand to the cut in his shirt and brought it away red.

And then he dropped to the ground without a scream.

Zitao could feel the burn in his throat as he screamed. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t happen. Not like this, not now.

 _Jonginjonginjonginjongin_ , he thought hard, almost praying, through his tears, _we need you. We really need you. Come back, oh god, come back._

 

 

 

Somewhere along the way, Jongin had got distracted.

His bag of food was in the dining room, and he was playing with his niece, pushing her on the swing while her mother got some much-needed peace. His mother was in the garden as well, a book in her hand.

He was having fun, enjoying himself and feeling relaxed for the first time in days, when he had the feeling someone had stabbed him in the chest and ripped his heart out.

He stopped pushing Juri immediately, and he clapped a hand to his chest even as his knees gave out, dropping him to the ground.

“Jongin?” his mother shouted, almost panicked-sounding, and she ran over to him, kneeling beside him. He couldn’t see her face through his blurred vision, but he knew what her worried face looked like. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I think Joonmyun-hyung’s dying,” he breathed, shakily, through the pain; not sure how he knew it, but instantly knowing he was right.

And suddenly he got the feeling like he could teleport. It was like he was standing up to the people who had placed the blockage, and was saying that they couldn’t hold him any longer. He had something more important to do. He had to save the boy he loved.

He couldn’t normally teleport to people, but when had that stopped him teleporting to Joonmyun when Joonmyun was going to die, first in the prison cells and later on Zyfria? It hadn’t, and that’s because Joonmyun was special, and Jongin existed for him, to protect him.

So he could get there. He knew he could.

His mother got to her feet and ran inside, coming back with his bag of food. “Take this, honey,” she said, and wrapped his hand around it.

He gripped it tightly, and breathed, “Bye, Umma,” and he shut his eyes and filtered everything out.

And then there was Zitao’s voice, in his head. Jongin could hear the tears as he begged Jongin to go back to them.

Jongin almost seemed to wrap a hand around Zitao’s words, linking them to a location, and teleported.

The first thing he saw was the giant bird, and the bundle on the ground before it, the ground dark around where it lay. The second thing he saw was Zitao on the ground. He was handsome even when he cried, Jongin thought, almost with disgust.

He didn’t see Sehun, but that was because Sehun had seen him first, and had attacked.

Jongin hopped on the ground as Sehun kicked at him. “I hate you,” Sehun snarled. “You don’t know what leaving did to us.”

Zitao stood and raised a hand to touch Sehun gently, trying to calm him down. “Now is not the time,” he said to Sehun. And then, to Jongin, softly, “Get him,” his eyes boring into Jongin’s soul. “I’ll do my best, too.” And, without using his watch, he shut his eyes, and time stopped, just for a moment.

Jongin looked over at Joonmyun, steeled himself, and teleported in, grabbed Joonmyun, and left again, all within the time Zitao had stopped, around the bird.

He placed Joonmyun on the ground before them. The cut was nasty and deep, spreading from collarbone to pelvis, splitting his shirt open, and his skin. Jongin had to look away so he wouldn’t retch. “He needs a physician,” he said softly.

“Effan has the best,” Zitao said, and he pointed. “It’s a few miles that way.”

Jongin could see it in the distance if he squinted, and he nodded. He picked Peach up, and then Joonmyun. “Hold onto me, and each other,” he said. Sehun and Zitao each took one of his shoulders, as his hands and arms weren’t free.

And, laden with people and belongings, Jongin stepped into nothing.

Behind them, time unfroze and the giant bird squawked so loudly they could hear it on the other side of the world, and a chill spread down everyone’s spine. The end was coming, and the dark was winning.

 

 

 

Nobody saw the skin on Joonmyun’s wrist heal with Jongin’s arrival, the symbol appear back where it had been before as if it had never left. Nobody realised the brief relief Joonmyun’s soul felt as something healed within it. Nobody realised what it meant.

They still had a chance.


	13. Level Five

Jongin stepped back into the world just outside the gates to Effan. The guards at the entrance recoiled slightly at his abrupt appearance but their faces, admirably, didn’t change, and they didn’t stop him from entering.

As they grew closer, Peach started saying something, but Jongin wasn’t listening to her. Whatever it was, it could wait. He had to get Joonmyun seen to, first.

“Where’s the nearest physician?” he asked one of the guards, eyes wide in panic and wet in misery. If he hadn’t left, none of this would have happened. Joonmyun wouldn’t have got hurt. It was all his fault.

The guards, thankfully, seemed to sense his need—or maybe they could see how fast Joonmyun was bleeding out. In fact, that seemed more likely, as one of them asked him to put Joonmyun down so they could bandage him up before he bled to death. Once there were blood-stained bandages around Joonmyun’s chest, they gave Jongin directions to the nearest physicians, who worked in a type of medical school.

Jongin teleported to each point of direction, unable to teleport straight there. It was slow going but faster than walking or running there.

Finally he arrived at the medical school, which was a large and imposing white building. He ran inside, to the desk.

“Please,” he begged. “Please can someone help me? He’s bleeding to death.”

The girl at the desk looked at Joonmyun and her facial expression changed to one of horror and disgust, and she opened her mouth to say something, reaching a hand over to the button that was beside her, when a voice came from behind him. “Can I help?”

Jongin turned around to look. The boy was tall, and maybe no older than Joonmyun was, though he didn’t look experienced. He had a look about him like Zitao did—someone not from the country originally, though Jongin couldn’t really explain it. The boy had dark hair pulled back and was wearing some baggy blue clothes Jongin thought were called scrubs.

“Lay-sshi,” the girl said, “they—”

He raised a hand to stop her. “I’m a med student here. What’s wrong with him?”

“A bird cut him,” Jongin said. “A giant bird. Can you really help him?”

The boy called Lay nodded. “Come through here.” He indicated a door to the side of the room. “I’ll find him a room.”

“You can’t!” the girl snapped. “It’s against the rules, you _know_ that.”

“Look at him!” Lay spat. “He’s going to die if I don’t look at him. He’s not going to live to get to the hospital. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

The girl turned away before he’d finished talking, and he waved Jongin through. Peach started jabbering again once they moved through the doors, but Jongin couldn’t hear anybody but Lay.

Lay took them through to a room off the side. It was clean and empty, with a long and thin metal table in the middle. “We won’t have long,” he said. “Put him here.”

Jongin lay Joonmyun on the table and Lay untied the bandage so he could survey the damage. He grimaced when he saw the cut, and said, “Wow, this looks really bad.” He paused. “A giant bird. Really?”

Jongin wrinkled his nose in annoyance at his disbelief. “Yes.”

Lay shrugged. “Alright,” he said, and then he placed his hands either side of the cut, shut his eyes, and then something happened that Jongin could only describe as Lay’s hands _sucking up_ the blood. Then Lay pulled away. “I’ll be back,” he said. “He’s stable for now, I stopped the bleeding.” And he left.

Now the worst was over, Jongin slumped to the ground, tiredness seeping in. He rested his head against the wall as he stared up at Joonmyun’s unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” How could he ever redeem himself?

“Oppa,” Peach said, and Jongin turned towards her, able to listen now the worst was over. “Oppa, he’s one. That boy. I can smell the ink on him.”

 _That_ might work.

Jongin’s eyes widened as thoughts occurred to him. He’d gained them another companion. Or he would if he worked out how to tell Lay.

When Lay came back, carrying a bag of blood and a needle, Jongin paid extra attention to Lay’s wrist and—yeah, that was it, the tattoo, dark ink against Lay’s skin.

“Nice tattoo,” Jongin said, trying to be casual.

Lay jolted, turning to look at him with surprise clear on his face—maybe people didn’t point it out often. It wasn’t like it had been there for long. “Um, yeah,” he said. “It’s a unicorn. Symbol of healing.” He turned his wrist so Jongin could see it, and sure enough—unicorn. And it definitely had the same tinge as Jongin’s.

Peach flew over to Lay quickly and jabbed her nose into his skin. “Yup,” she said. “Definitely the same as yours.”

Lay’s brow furrowed at the sight of the flying cat, and even more so at her words. “What do you mean?”

Jongin raised his wrist to show Lay the triangle. It would be so easy to forget it was there, inked into his skin, because it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t invasive. And yet he knew it was there at all times. A connection, linking him to Joonmyun, and reminding him of him every moment of every day—even when he’d left them, it had still been on his mind. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“I don’t understand,” Lay said, frowning, and he turned back to Joonmyun, fixing the blood so it was like a drip, giving him a transfusion. Once it was attached, he rested a hand on Joonmyun’s chest, knitting the veins back together. “I just got this recently. How can it be similar to yours?” And then, lower, muttered, “You must be crazy.”

Jongin bristled. “I am not crazy,” he said, pride wounded.

“Oh,” Lay said, and then he froze, and turned to look over his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. You speak Golmene?”

Golmene was the language of Golmenia, which was just across the water from Pathalff. Jongin had never been.

Jongin shook his head. “No,” he said.

Lay looked confused, so Peach cut in. “I translate,” she offered. “Daddy is Golmene.”

Well, _that_ made sense. Suddenly Zitao’s colouring and strange name had a meaning.

“Daddy?” Lay asked, brow furrowed, and he turned to Joonmyun.

“Mm, yeah, one of our companions—not him,” Jongin said. “He’s—” And then he broke off, looking around him. “Wait a minute. Where are Zitao and Sehun?”

“There was nobody else with you,” Lay said.

“I’ve lost them,” Jongin said in horror, and clapped his hands to his face, eyes wide. “Oh no, I’ve lost them. Joonmyun-hyung is going to kill me.”

“How did you lose them?”

Jongin worried his lip. “The must have fallen off when I teleported here.”

Lay looked at him like he had two heads.

“You heal, I teleport,” Jongin said. “We’re the same.”

“I don’t think your meaning of ‘the same’ is the same as mine,” Lay mumbled.

Jongin smiled wryly. “He’d be able to explain it better,” he said, nodding over to Joonmyun. “When he wakes up. Thanks to you, he will. Right?”

Lay nodded. “He’ll be fine.” He paused. “I’m sorry about her, outside.”

“She wasn’t going to give me any help, was she?” Jongin asked, biting his lip. He looked over at Joonmyun. “She was going to let him die.”

Lay sighed. “The people here…we’re a medical school, but we’re more used to working with the dead rather than the living. I’m sure she didn’t really mean to be quite so rude.”

“What was she saying about the rules, though? You’re not going to get into trouble because of me?”

Lay shrugged. “Probably,” he said. “It’s not your fault. I offered. I couldn’t let your friend die when I could help; that’s what my healing powers are for. But yes, it’s against the rules to help people from outside the facility, without express word from a superior.”

“What’ll happen?” Jongin asked, his voice small. This boy was going to get into trouble because of him.

Lay shrugged again. “We’ll see when we get to it,” he said.

It wasn’t long. A few minutes after he started dotting at Joonmyun’s skin with a cloth, the door to their room was flung open and an angry looking man stepped into the room. “Lay,” he began, voice dark with annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Lay said. “He was dying. He wouldn’t have made it.”

The man shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. We have rules for a reason.”

“And sometimes rules are meant to be broken,” Lay said. “He’s special, Sir. I can sense it. He’s going to do something great.”

“Maybe he was supposed to die,” the man said, “and you’ve stopped fate from happening. You shouldn’t intervene with fate. You know what happens if you do.”

Lay’s face darkened, shadows crossing his brow. Jongin couldn’t tell if he was angry, upset, or hurt, but he could understand that the man had crossed a line he wasn’t supposed to. “That was nothing—” he began to spit out, and the man shook his head.

“Take a break,” he said, interrupting Lay. “Go home. Stay there for a while.”

Lay’s back stilled. “Are you—?”

“Go,” the man said, and Lay grimaced, turned, and stalked out of the room, stomping his feet on the ground like an angry child. Once he was gone, the man turned to Jongin. “I’m sorry about him,” he said. “He wants to save the world. He’s like a child in that respect—in a lot of respects, really. He’s very nice, but a bit simple. He doesn’t realise that sometimes death is what’s needed.” He walked over to Joonmyun and patted his arm. “Death changes things. We need deaths to change what’s coming. Everyone has their time.” And he pulled out a syringe from his pocket and moved it closer to Joonmyun.

Jongin didn’t even shout, or make a noise. Instead, instinct pulled him to teleport over to Joonmyun, grab him, and teleport away before the needle could connect.

He teleported to the outside of the building just as Lay was leaving, and he grabbed Lay as well automatically, before teleporting to the end of the road. When they landed, Lay looked unsteady and a little sick, but Jongin didn’t know if it was travel sickness or misery.

“Where to?” Jongin asked, and Lay, unsteadily, led them down a side road.

“They’ll be after you, you know,” he said softly as he then led them up some stairs and into a building, “so you won’t be able to stay long. But I should be able to finish fixing up your friend before you have to go.”

Lay unlocked a door within the building and Jongin walked inside and, on command, put Joonmyun on the couch. “Go and collect your friends,” Lay said. “We’ll be fine here for a few moments. Good luck.”

Jongin nodded his head, took one last look at Joonmyun, clutched Peach to his chest, and, thinking hard about Sehun (and using Peach’s ability to sense things), stepped out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sehun and Zitao had fallen together. Their grasp of Jongin clearly hadn’t been good enough, Sehun thought, as he looked around himself at the miles of grass. There weren’t even any monsters around. There were no identifying landmarks. Sehun had thought they would have fallen to the path on the way to Effan, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

“I hate Jongin,” he said aloud.

Zitao nodded his head. “Jongin,” he said.

“Yes,” Sehun said. “He’s annoying and I hate him. I can’t believe he let us fall. He probably wasn’t thinking straight, but all the same, it’s his fault.” He turned to look at Zitao. “What do you think?”

Zitao gave a strange, slightly confused smile, and said, “I hate Jongin.”

“No you don’t,” Sehun said, “or you would have let me kill him before. You like him anyway, I know you, and how even though he bullies you, you still want to be friends with him.”

“Friends,” Zitao said, and gave that strange smile, and Sehun looked at him for a moment, brow furrowed.

“You’re being very strange,” he said, and Zitao nodded, and a thought occurred to Sehun. “Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

He was expecting an, “Of course,” from Zitao, just to ease his nerves, but Zitao simply kept smiling, and Sehun knew that Zitao hadn’t a clue.

“Of course you wouldn’t speak Pathalvan, how _dare_ we be stuck together speaking a mutual language,” Sehun sighed, and he dropped his bag on the ground and fell back, flopping onto the grass comfortably. “May as well lie here until Jongin comes back.”

Zitao copied him stupidly quickly, and then he stretched over his hand to lie next to Sehun’s.

Sehun sighed. “Are you Jongin now? Do you need the comfort?” He rolled his eyes and slipped his hand under Zitao’s, allowing the older boy to hold it. “You’re older than me, you know. You shouldn’t need to hold hands.”

Zitao seemed to know he was being reprimanded, because he pouted, sticking out his lower lip.

“Ugh, stop doing that,” Sehun grumbled. “It’s too cute.”

Zitao rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, and then he said something in another language. The only word Sehun got was ‘Taozi’ and that was only because he said it about five times in one sentence.

“Taozi?” he asked. “That’s your name backwards, isn’t it?”

“Taozi,” Zitao said, and then mimed flapping wings, and rounded his fingers around his eyes, and then, as if Sehun hadn’t already got it, he mimed cat ears on top of his head.

Sehun had the momentary thought that Zitao would look _really_ cute in cat ears. He shook himself out of it. “Peach is called Taozi in your language?” He pointed to Zitao, “Zitao,” and mimed flying, “and Taozi? That is really unimaginative.”

Zitao gave a sheepish shrug. “Gege,” he said. “Wu Fan.”

Sehun knew that Wu Fan was the name of Zitao’s older brother, so that meant that there was a good chance of ‘gege’ meaning that. He nodded. Wu Fan had been the one to have Peach made, so he’d probably named her. From what Sehun had heard of the older boy, he’d probably thought of it as a silly joke.

They lay there in silence for a good ten minutes or so. Sehun had his eyes shut, praying that Jongin had found someone, had saved Joonmyun’s life. He supposed he would have. It wouldn’t be like Jongin to quit.

And Sehun thought he might know, himself, if Joonmyun had died. He suspected it might come in the form of the tattoos disappearing, or hurting, or maybe something in his chest or his head would tell him. And life would stop being meaningful. There would be no meaning for him if Joonmyun died. He was all about helping him, doing the right thing to save the world, and getting back at Seyeol for leaving.

He supposed in his own way he loved Joonmyun. Not like Jongin did, not in that burning way. He didn’t want to kiss Joonmyun, he wanted—he wanted to curl up in his arms, be held like a child. He wanted Joonmyun to treat him like a younger brother, like Seyeol never did, or—yeah, sure, sometimes he wanted to be Joonmyun’s son. Sometimes Joonmyun made a much better parent than his real ones ever had, and that’s why he loved Joonmyun far more than he had ever loved them. He would go to the ends of the earth for Joonmyun.

He loved Jongin and Zitao as well. He’d known Jongin since they were toddlers, and Jongin had always been like a slightly older twin brother. They’d never used honorifics with each other, even though Jongin was technically older. They just had this understanding. They were the same age in Sehun’s mind, and always would be—which kind of made it strange that Jongin would one day date Sehun’s mother figure. Even weirder was the fact that Sehun knew that Zitao saw Jongin as a substitute father, regardless of his age. Sehun could never see Jongin as a father, and yet he knew that if Jongin wanted it to be so, Sehun could pretend. Though he knew Jongin never would, aside from jokes. Jongin wasn’t that sort of person.

With Zitao it was different again. Sehun had only known him a few days. He’d shared a bed with him, a tent, had changed in a shop cubicle with him. Zitao’s body felt warm against him when they touched in a satisfying way. When Zitao spoke, everything in Sehun’s body told him to stop and listen. Like Joonmyun and Jongin, Sehun knew he would go to the ends of the earth for Zitao, but there was a burning in his chest and Sehun knew it wasn’t normal.

“I kind of want to kiss you,” he breathed aloud. “It’s there all the time, just inside me, here.” He lifted his hand to his chest, where his heart was. “I wonder what your face would do, what your eyelashes would feel like against my skin, how you would taste.” He dropped his hand away and turned to look at Zitao, who was looking at him in slight confusion. His skin was dark against the green of the grass and his hair striking, and he looked like an elf, or a woodland creature. “I want to now,” Sehun breathed.

“Kiss?” Zitao asked, frowning, and Sehun was relieved because Zitao didn’t understand him, couldn’t understand him.

“Yes,” he said, and then kissed his fingers in demonstration.

“Ahh,” Zitao said, nodding with understanding, and he kissed his own fingers and pressed them against Sehun’s. He didn’t look at Sehun, so Sehun couldn’t work out if there was something hidden in there, some meaning he wasn’t aware of, but he couldn’t imagine Zitao doing it for no reason. There had to be a purpose. Zitao wasn’t someone who did things without reasons.

Sehun looked down at their fingers, touching. Their other hands were still lying between them, entwined. Sehun thought his hand might be getting sweaty but he couldn’t bear to pull it back, to let go.

“Kiss,” Zitao said softly, and Sehun rolled to face him.

“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d ever stop,” he said equally softly.

Zitao pulled his free hand away from Sehun’s, and he brought his hand shakily up to point at himself, and he took a deep breath, and asked, voice as shaky as his hand, “Kiss?”

Sehun realised in that moment that Zitao wasn’t so stupid after all; even faced with a language he couldn’t speak, he was able to comprehend certain things. Like the fact Sehun wanted to kiss _him_.

He pulled away from Zitao, sitting up and moving away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s terrible, but I _like_ you, I have for ages, and you’re so…so _pretty_ and so kind, and how could I resist you? I know you probably like Joonmyun more, and I _know_ you like Jongin, but I just thought maybe…” He shrugged, and then he felt a hand on his arm, and he turned slightly to face Zitao.

A Zitao who was in his personal space a bit too much.

Zitao seemed to take whatever expression Sehun was wearing as acceptance, because the next moment he leaned in and kissed Sehun.

It was brief, only lasting a couple of seconds, but it was the world to Sehun. When Zitao pulled back, a sheepish and embarrassed look on his face, Sehun leaned straight back in, kissing with all he could give.

Their gentle kisses grew deeper as Sehun realised the floor was more comfortable and Zitao moved himself so he was lying as close to Sehun as he could possibly get. Sehun fisted his hands in Zitao’s shirt and Zitao, seemingly more daring, slipped his hands under Sehun’s and up his back.

They kissed for what seemed like forever to Sehun, occasionally pulling apart to suck in air and pepper each other’s faces with soft kisses, and to smile at each other with somewhat dopily love-struck expressions. Sehun never wanted the moment to end.

“Eww, guys, I did _not_ need to see that,” yelped Jongin’s voice, and Sehun pulled away from Zitao’s mouth regretfully to turn and find him. He was standing to the side, Peach grasped in his arms, both of them covering their eyes.

Sehun sat up and straightened his clothing. “I wish you could have knocked,” he said. “I was enjoying that.”

He was expecting agreement from Zitao, but all he got when he looked down was watery eyes. Zitao stood up and pounced, wrapping his limbs around Jongin. “Dad~,” he whined, crying into Jongin’s neck.

Jongin, seemingly begrudgingly, held Zitao up without dropping him as Sehun suspected he would have a day or so ago. “I am not your father,” Jongin grumbled, but he rubbed Zitao’s back a little comfortingly anyway. And then he offered, to Sehun’s complete bewilderment, “Mum’s fine.”

“I’m so glad~,” Zitao sobbed. “I was so worried.”

Sehun shook his head at the scene before him. The tallest, and oldest, of the three of them, reduced to a crying mush wrapped around the middle one whilst he, the youngest, looked on in confusion. These were his friends. He wouldn’t change them for the world.

He was going to tease Jongin about being their father all day, in revenge.

“So, you were kissing Daddy,” Peach began, eyes wide, innocent and childlike. “Does that make you Mummy?”

Sehun found a shiver run down his spine. On second thoughts—

“Mummy!” Jongin crowed, putting Zitao down so he could laugh, bending double. “Oh, that’s the best thing I have heard all week. Mummy Sehun~.”

“It is very cute,” Zitao said, and then cooed, “Mummy~,” holding out his arms to Sehun.

“No,” Sehun grumbled, “if anything you’re the Mummy and I’m the incredibly manly Dad.”

Zitao pouted at this. “Are you saying I’m not manly? I’m very manly. Am I not manly? Dad~, stick up for me,” he whined, grabbing at Jongin’s hand pathetically.

Jongin let Zitao hold it for a few moments before pulling away. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go with Sehun on this one,” Jongin said, shrugging his shoulders and looking like an utterly new person. He had colour in his cheeks and a slight smile in his eyes, and for once he wasn’t looking at Zitao with animosity. Maybe seeing Zitao and Sehun kiss was doing Jongin good. “Sehun would make a great dad.”

Peach pouted. “No!” she said. “Daddy is Daddy,” and she folded her paws.

“I guess the lady has spoken,” Jongin said. “Sorry, Sehun, mate, you’re Mummy forever.”

Sehun frowned, folded his arms, and resigned himself to making Jongin pay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joonmyun woke feeling exhausted, like someone had hit his head with a hammer and then carved him open with a butcher’s knife. A second later he remembered what had happened and decided that description wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Well, he wasn’t dead—he thought. That was a bonus.

He looked down at himself to find his shirt split open, lying either side of him, and the jagged, angry red line running down his chest to be a bit less angry and red, and seemingly sealed up. It was a bit raw when he moved his hand to his head, to rub circles on his forehead to soothe the pain, but it didn’t open.

He gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position, using the back of the couch he was lying on to help, and looked around himself. He was in someone’s sitting room—but one he hadn’t been in before.

After Zitao’s house, this was like stepping back in time—though admittedly not terribly far back, as there was a small black box on the wall that Zitao had told him was called a radio, and he could see the electric lights.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a voice came from the doorway, and Joonmyun looked up to see a boy no older than him—but, indeed, no younger—standing there with a soft smile on his face. “I hoped you would be.”

Joonmyun nodded, but he was confused. Who was this person? Where were they?

“I’m a healer,” the boy said. “Your friend brought you to me in a pretty bad state.”

Joonmyun nodded again. “Thank you for your help,” he said, and he bowed carefully. Even though he was careful, it hurt and he gasped.

“No, no, don’t do that,” the boy said, running over to him, and he helped pull Joonmyun back up into a sitting position. “You don’t want to pull the skin open. I’d advise you to not move too much.”

And that’s when Joonmyun saw it, inked softly on the inside of the boy’s wrist; the unicorn. “You’re one of us,” he said, full of awe and relief. “Jongin did well finding you.”

The boy shrugged. “I thought it was just coincidence,” he said.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Joonmyun replied, shaking his head. “This was meant to happen.” He stretched his hands out to show his tattoo, and the chain of the other three—briefly noting the return of Jongin’s symbol. “I’m Joonmyun. I’m the Water Cursed, and I am on a mission to save the world.”

The boy stared for a moment, before saying, “I’m La—no, wait, I’m Yixing.” It was like he usually used a different name, and suddenly had to start over. He seemed a little confused. “I just got expelled from the medical school, so I have nothing else to do except get out of Effan.” He looked up at Joonmyun, looking him dead in the eye. “It would be a pleasure to join you on your mission.”

This time the burn somehow hurt less, and Joonmyun smiled, welcoming it. Once the pain had gone, he looked down at the four symbols around his wrist, the tiny 5 below them, and smiled.


	14. Level Five

Yixing was out of the room packing when Jongin popped back into the room with Zitao and Sehun. Joonmyun had his legs up on the couch and was checking over their belongings, making sure they had all their things. There was an extra bag of food that he didn’t recognise, and he would have thought it was Yixing’s if it hadn’t been with their camping equipment.

Joonmyun’s chest stung at the appearance of Jongin. He’d known Jongin was the one who had taken him there. He’d known Jongin was back because of the tattoo. But somehow he hadn’t really believed it.

And seeing Jongin there, off to the side, _hurt_. Joonmyun’s eyes watered and he really badly wanted to stand up and slap the younger boy, making him hurt as much as he’d hurt after Jongin had left.

He clenched his fists and busied himself with their bags, wrapping his hands around the straps.

“Mum!” Zitao squealed, and ran over to curl up next to Joonmyun, clamping a hand tightly around the elder’s. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I am, Zitao,” Joonmyun said, affectionately petting his hair, feeling himself calm as he didn’t look at Jongin. “We’re in a healer’s house, after all.”

Zitao seemed surprised, but before he could open his mouth, Jongin cut in, the topic so strange Joonmyun almost thought Jongin had been vying for his attention. “You know what happened, Hyung?” He flopped down on Joonmyun’s other side. Joonmyun instinctively froze, keeping his head turned away, towards Zitao. “When I got there, they were _kissing_. I need to bleach my eyes and my brain. _Save me_.” He rested a hand on Joonmyun’s other arm, fire burning through the material of his shredded shirt.

Joonmyun tried not to listen to him, but then Jongin’s words sunk in, and he turned to look at him for a moment, before turning towards Zitao, an eyebrow raised. Zitao was blushing, and Sehun, when he turned to face him, just looked pleased. It was the most animated an expression Joonmyun had ever seen him give, and that alone was an impressive feat.

Strangely, there was no pain in his chest when he thought about them being together—not like he’d felt when Zitao had told him he liked Sehun yesterday (had it only been yesterday?). Instead he just felt a slight pleased, satisfied, buzz. He smiled. “Congratulations, you two,” he said. “It was about time. I can only take so much staring.”

Sehun giggled, turning to look at Zitao, one eyebrow raised, and Zitao just moved his hands up to cover his face. Joonmyun laughed, feeling even more at ease.

“Clearly it was a good thing Jongin left you behind,” Joonmyun said, presuming that was what had happened.

“I didn’t leave them behind,” Jongin protested with a frown.

“ _Sure_ ,” Joonmyun said, rolling his eyes—what else could it have been? “It’s not like you could have dropped them.”

Jongin was so quiet that it was suspicious, and when Joonmyun turned to face him properly, he could see the redness in his cheeks and the embarrassment clear in his eyes.

“Oh,” Joonmyun said. “Well.”

Jongin pulled his legs up to his chest, regardless of the fact he was still wearing boots, and buried his face into his knees. Joonmyun felt a twitch, somewhere in his body, and he allowed himself to reach next to him to pat Jongin on the back, trying for comforting but probably only succeeding at being patronising. He brought his hand back quickly.

The atmosphere was suddenly quite awkward, Sehun looking at Joonmyun with a strange expression on his face that Joonmyun couldn’t decipher, and Zitao just seemingly reverting to a five year old, clinging closely to the eldest, who was extremely grateful when Yixing entered the room. He stopped, surprised, and looked at the two new faces, realisation clear on his features.

“Everyone, this is Yixing, he’s a healer,” Joonmyun said, taking it upon himself to do the introductions. “Yixing, this is Sehun, and this is Zitao.” He indicated each boy with a wave of his hand.

Yixing nodded. “Hi,” he said, and then he turned to Zitao. “You’re the Golmene, right?”

Zitao nodded as well, smile wide. “You are as well?” he asked, and then he leaned over to nudge Peach, who seemed to do something with the metallic sheen of her fur. The next moment, a rapid stream of a language Joonmyun didn’t understand erupted from Zitao.

Yixing, smile wide, replied, and soon the two of them were jabbering away a mile a minute in their own language. Joonmyun felt very left out, and he turned back to Sehun and Jongin, slightly hesitantly. “So,” he said.

“So you came back to us,” Sehun said, looking pointedly at Jongin.

“You didn’t have to kick me,” Jongin said. “And yes. Though it was really hard. There was a magic block on Mavia and I couldn’t teleport.” He turned to face Joonmyun, eyes clearly showing his earnestness. “I wanted to come back immediately, really, but I couldn’t.”

“How did you get back, then?” Joonmyun asked, frowning, not wanting to listen to Jongin’s assurances. He’d been hurt too badly to trust Jongin so quickly.

“I…” Jongin shook his head, before continuing, “I heard Zitao’s voice, crying, begging me to come back. I kind of wrapped myself around his words and thought really hard, and I could teleport to him.”

Zitao turned at the sound of his name, and he seemed to understand. He leaned around Joonmyun to clutch Jongin’s hand, and Jongin laced his fingers with his. “Thank you,” Jongin breathed, looking upset but truthful, like he really meant it.

Joonmyun felt something else twitch in him, seeing Zitao’s and Jongin’s hands together, but this time it wasn’t anger. It was surprise, laced with affection. Jongin, who had disliked and been jealous of Zitao, seemed to have put it behind him. Joonmyun didn’t know why, but he was glad. Jongin had been rather petty and childish about Zitao’s friendship with Joonmyun—which was all it was, Joonmyun knew know. Zitao had never been his anyway, but they were close, that was clear, and Joonmyun felt strongly for Zitao in the way an older brother would—though, sure, sometimes his parental instincts kicked in. But it wasn’t love—not like that. Joonmyun had almost confused his feelings. Seeing Zitao, feeling the warmth in his chest when he was around him—well, it had been an easy enough mistake to make. Something, though Joonmyun didn’t know what, had worked. Joonmyun was no longer jealous of Sehun.

And Jongin had been jealous as well, of Zitao, and now he wasn’t—though Joonmyun carefully didn’t draw parallels, because the situations were different, he was sure of it. And Joonmyun was relieved. He didn’t know what had done it, but something had, like for him—and he was glad.

He smiled fondly at them, his first companions, even as Yixing drew closer, to sit below them. Peach twitched and her fur glossed over, and when Yixing spoke, it was in a language Joonmyun understood.

“Have you been together long? Has this—thing, adventure—been long?”

Joonmyun shrugged. He hadn’t been counting, so he didn’t know.

But Jongin nodded his head. “I met Hyung seven days ago, and we set out six, with Sehun. We met Zitao later. We hadn’t been travelling long.”

“I only found all this out six days ago,” Joonmyun said softly. “And it was very cryptic.”

Yixing looked down at his wrist, rubbing at the tattoo lightly. “That was when this appeared.”

Joonmyun nodded. “I know.”

“So…this hasn’t been a long-running thing, then?” Yixing sighed. “It seems very sudden.”

“It was,” Sehun said. “We’ve just had to keep moving. If we get caught, Hyung could die.”

“The doctor,” Jongin said suddenly, shooting it out. “The doctor tried to kill Hyung.”

Yixing frowned. “Did he?”

Jongin nodded. “He was talking about how sometimes people have to die, because of change, and he had a needle and syringe—” He broke off, clutching at Joonmyun’s hand almost in a panic. Joonmyun could sense his fear, and so he let him. “For a moment I thought I wasn’t going to get there in time,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing said. “He talks about the old ways a lot. You know one of the rules for us was to not let outside patients in? He made that rule. He was big on keeping to rules and discipline for those who didn’t.” He stretched, reaching over his head. “I didn’t, clearly,” he said. “I’ve never been big on rules, and he never liked me. I’m not sure if he took it out on Joonmyun-sshi because of me or because of something bigger.” He looked off to the side, seeming to think for a moment, before he said, “I’ve decided to come with you. I know what I said before, but I thought about it, and there’s nothing left for me here, and you clearly need a healer.” This last part he said teasingly, gently, and Joonmyun smiled. “Effan was never my home. I come from Nowal, across the water. I have no loyalty to this place or this house now I’m not studying at the school any longer.” He shook his head. “And if I stay here, they’ll find me, and they will try and track you through me. I can’t let that happen. I’m safer with you.”

Joonmyun didn’t look to see the reactions of the others, but he smiled, hearing Yixing explain himself. He’d already told Joonmyun he was coming, but this was a detailed, carefully thought out explanation, and it really gave Joonmyun some insight to the way he thought.

“Well,” he said, carefully standing up so he wouldn’t split the skin of his stomach. “What’s keeping us? We should make a move before the guards realise we’re here. If your doctor was working for them, he may have already informed them. They may be coming here.”

The younger ones made a fuss, saying Joonmyun wasn’t ready to move, but they knew he was right. They knew that ultimately they had to move, and then had to move then.

Peach changed Joonmyun’s shirt, giving him a new one to wear that wasn’t in two separate pieces, they all shouldered their bags, Yixing locked the front door, and then they left—out the back entrance, to preserve some kind of secrecy.

They moved speedily down the lanes, Yixing leading them, taking good care not to lead them into any traps where they could be captured or killed. Zitao watched carefully for anything unusual, and Peach also helped, trying to sniff out anything.

Joonmyun walked as fast as he could go without pulling the skin, but it hurt, and he knew that sooner or later they were going to have to slow down because of him, because he couldn’t take it.

Jongin sighed. “Hyung, I can carry you, if you want?” he asked softly, but Joonmyun shook his head. What little pride he had left wouldn’t stand for it. But they slowed down for him.

They hadn’t been far from the gates to Effan, so it didn’t take them long to get there even with the new, slower pace. Once they were within sight of them, the group noticed how the guards seemed to be strangely alert, looking every which way for something, and Joonmyun had a sinking feeling that it was them.

“Is there another way out?” he asked Yixing, pulling them all into the shadows at the side of the road so the guards couldn’t see them.

Yixing shook his head, and Joonmyun felt his shoulders sag. There was no way around it. They couldn’t fall at this hurdle.

“Maybe they’re not looking for us?” Sehun asked hopefully.

“Do you want to risk it?” Joonmyun asked, and they all shook their heads, even Sehun.

Jongin raised a shaky hand. “I think I can try to teleport us out of here.”

“But there are five of us, and Peach,” Joonmyun said. “Can you really cope with that?” _You dropped Sehun and Zitao_ went unsaid. They all knew what had happened now.

Jongin shrugged. “I don’t feel the weight of everyone because we stop existing when we’re moving. As long as everyone holds on really tightly, what happened with Sehun and Zitao shouldn’t happen again. I’ll manage, Hyung,” he said, and he reached over to take Joonmyun’s hand gently. Joonmyun let him, his hand warm and comforting. “I should be able to teleport us a way away from the gates.”

Joonmyun nodded. “It’s worth a try,” he said. “Everyone, hold on.”

Joonmyun found himself holding Peach. Sehun attached himself to Jongin’s arm, his other hand holding Zitao’s tightly, and Yixing awkwardly clutched Zitao’s shirtsleeve, clearly not entirely sure what was appropriate.

Jongin stepped out, and the rest of them went with him.

When they stepped back in, it was only for a brief moment, before Jongin stepped out again, reappearing a good half mile to the left. He’d done it so quickly that had the guards been looking that way, they would have thought they’d been imagining it.

Joonmyun, as they settled in the realisation they were away from Effan, pressed his hand to his face as he realised that they had Zitao, and they should have stopped time when they teleported. Well, what was done was done. He made a mental note to remember next time.

Once they were far enough away from Effan, Joonmyun spread out his map. Egra was close by, and they would easily get there within a day, although they would probably have to sleep once they reached it. Joonmyun thought they should move through the night to make up for everything that had happened during the day.

They set off immediately. Yixing clearly didn’t know how to fight, nor did he have a weapon, so he stood back, keeping Joonmyun away from the fight, as the other three knocked down monster after monster. Joonmyun felt stronger and stronger each time they destroyed something, like he was being energised through their efforts as he rested. He thought that soon he would be able to fight as well, without pulling at the scar that was forming—because he knew it would scar. It couldn’t be helped.

They steadily crossed Zyfria towards Egra, pacing themselves. Joonmyun talked quietly to Yixing as they went. He learned Yixing was the same age as him, if only a few months younger, and it was _such_ a relief to him to have someone who wasn’t so much younger. Zitao, the eldest of the three younger ones, seemed like the youngest most of the time, and Sehun, the youngest, felt like the eldest. It was very strange.

Yixing was from Nowal, which was an island just below Harrif, according to the map. It was a pretty large island, almost as big as Harrif, but it wasn’t independent, and was governed by Overm, like the rest of Pathalff. Yixing loved it, and he said he’d been sorry to leave, but he’d had to go when his powers settled in.

“There’s not a lot of call for healers in Nowal,” he explained. “I felt miserable and useless. Effan has the best medical schools in the country. It didn’t help, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun said, apologising for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Yixing shrugged. “Don’t be. This was fate’s way of telling me there was something better for me to do. I’m happy you found me. Or I will be,” he conceded, sighing, and Joonmyun left it alone. It would take time, but he was sure one day Yixing would be able to say he was glad for this adventure. Or Joonmyun hoped so.

They walked through the night, Zitao’s torch on full. It was quicker to travel through the night, although they had to be wary of their feet so they didn’t fall into any holes.

Dawn was breaking when they arrived at Egra, and Peach started flapping her wings. Sometime when Joonmyun hadn’t been looking she’d turned herself fawn-coloured, with tabby markings and short fur, and it was quite jarring, after her being black so long. She settled into Zitao’s arms as they neared. Egra was a big town—not as big as Overm, but easily as big as Harrif, and there were rumours about magic being sorely disapproved of.

“I can smell it! The tattoo ink,” she said. “It’s here, somewhere.” She shut her eyes. “No,” she breathed. “There are two here.”

Joonmyun felt his heart beat faster. Two companions? They could get to seven of them in one city? It was like a reward for nearly being killed, and he smiled warmly before sagging on his feet, utterly exhausted.

“We need to find somewhere to sleep,” Jongin said, running to catch Joonmyun before he keeled over. Joonmyun rested against him, feeling warm and comforted in his arms, and he absently nuzzled Jongin’s chest, his anger momentarily forgotten with his tiredness. Jongin was a comforting presence and he liked knowing he was there.

Weaving through the streets slowly, looking every way and using Peach’s inner map system for help, they were able to find a guesthouse where they could sleep until lunchtime. They paid with money Zitao had given Joonmyun and Jongin, and then headed to their room. They’d got one family room, as cheap as they could manage. It had one double bed and one single. Yixing looked lost for a moment before Joonmyun said, “Three in the double, two in the single.” They were all tiny; two of them could fit easily in the single bed.

“I vote the lovebirds sleep away from us,” Jongin said, and Sehun snorted out loud, leaning over to whisper something into Zitao’s ear. He laughed as well. Joonmyun felt terribly left out, but he said nothing.

They all stripped out of their clothes and into their pyjamas, although Yixing did it in the bathroom away from prying eyes, and Sehun spent far too much time looking at Zitao’s chest for Joonmyun’s comfort. Then they crawled into bed, Sehun and Zitao wrapped around each other like they’d been apart for years. The double had Joonmyun on one side, Jongin’s arms wrapped gently and comfortingly around his middle, and Yixing lying awkwardly on Jongin’s other side like he’d never shared a bed before (he probably hadn’t), and, curtains shut, lights off, Peach dimming the room before settling down, they all fell asleep like that.


	15. Level Seven

They all woke up around lunchtime. When Joonmyun woke, Jongin was already awake, though he hadn’t moved a single bit. He was still wrapped around Joonmyun like an octopus. Joonmyun sighed and pulled himself out of Jongin’s grasp a little regretfully—he was warm, and Joonmyun was still sleepy.

They took their turn showering, which really meant, to save water and time, they showered in groups. Nobody wanted to shower after Sehun and Zitao, suspecting the worst, so Jongin told them to shower last. Yixing got to go in first, and then, once he was finished and dressed, Jongin dragged Joonmyun into the bathroom. Jongin helped him undress, as he was too sleepy to do much, and Joonmyun barely even noticed Jongin’s fingers on his trousers, because he was quick and gentle. Joonmyun knew somewhere that he was supposed to be angry about something, but he didn’t really want to focus on it.

Their shower was quick, though, each of them not spending too long under the spray, dragging soap over their hair, and then they were out, Jongin helping to wrap a towel around him and then shoving a t-shirt over his head. The shower had woken Joonmyun up enough to remember why he was angry, and he jerked away from Jongin to pull the rest of his clothes on. Jongin pouted but didn’t protest, instead slowly putting on his own clothes.

Sehun and Zitao took _forever_ in the shower. Joonmyun just tried to block it out, and their incessant giggles, instead talking to Peach about the tattoos she could smell. It was also a good way to avoid Jongin.

“I think I can work out where they are,” she said. “If I separate one smell and bring up a map, I should be able to link them.”

Joonmyun told her to do it, and he watched in awe as she popped up a holographic map, and then proceeded to trace it with her nose, trying to isolate where the first person was.

It took her the entire length of Sehun and Zitao’s stupidly long shower to find the tattoo, and she finally located it as they were coming out together, rubbing their hair with towels. “This building,” she said, nosing an area of the map. “They’re here.”

She highlighted that part of the map, and then proceeded to sniff out the other person. That took less than a minute.

“They’re in the same building,” she said, pulling back and sitting on her haunches like a real cat. “Both people with tattoos.”

That made it extremely easy, Joonmyun thought. “What’s the building?” he asked.

She turned the hologram off and then her eyes glazed over, a sign that she was searching inside her head for something. Finally, she said, “The prison.”

A chill ran up Joonmyun’s spine. That meant they would either be guards or prisoners. Criminals. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being in a party with a criminal. But he had no choice. There was nothing he could do about that.

“How can we get in?” Joonmyun asked instead, trying to ignore that part of his train of thought. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable with going to a prison. And I’m not sure my stomach can cope with it.”

“No, and I wouldn’t ask you to, but _I_ will be fine with it,” Jongin said, and he turned to the rest of them. “What about you guys?”

Yixing shook his head, mumbling about being a fugitive, but the other two seemed up for it.

“Sure,” Sehun said. “And we’ve got Zitao to stop time for us so we can get in.”

But, strangely, Zitao shook his head. He looked weak, and Joonmyun wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. “I can’t,” he said. “I feel drained. I tried to stop it just now but—” He shook his head. “I think I’ve used it too much too often, I’ll have to recharge. We’ll have to find another way in.”

That made it infinitely harder, Joonmyun realised, and he bit his lip as they tried to brainstorm ideas. Some of them were silly. Sehun and Jongin suggested going in through the sewers, and Joonmyun had to point out the utter impracticality of that. Their faces were so pathetic-looking he almost felt sorry for bursting their bubbles (almost).

“How about you do a kind of Trojan horse thing?” Yixing piped up after terrible ideas had been thrown around for a while (“No, Jongin, I am not going to _do magic_ in the street so I’m put in prison.” “No, Jongin, I am not going to _talk to Peach_ in the street so I’m put in prison.” “No, Jongin, I am not going to _make out with Zitao_ in the street so we’re put in prison.”). It was so different that even Sehun and Jongin stopped bickering for a moment to look at him.

“What’s a Trojan horse?” Sehun asked finally.

Yixing sighed. “What I mean is do something that looks normal to get in there—maybe disguise yourselves as deliverymen. They’re probably all looking for us. If we walk in we’ll be caught, so maybe we have to break-and-enter.”

“This is _so_ illegal,” Joonmyun muttered.

“But it might actually work,” Jongin pointed out, and he turned to Peach. “Can you find out what deliveries they get, and if they’ll get any today?”

She shut her eyes and began searching, and they talked quietly until she said, “There’s a delivery at four o’clock. I can probably amplify Daddy’s powers to get us out of the van if you can find some way of getting us inside it.”

“I wish your power was invisibility,” Jongin grumbled to Sehun good-naturedly. Sehun kicked him.

Somehow, with Peach’s help, they managed to trace the route of the delivery car to find the best place to sneak inside, and then the three of them left, leaving Joonmyun and Yixing awkwardly behind.

“So,” Yixing said, “um, where are you from?”

Joonmyun sighed and prayed to whatever was up there that the boys wouldn’t cause any problems.

 

 

 

Jongin and Sehun bickered, quietly, all the way out of the hostel, which they teleported out of to a secure side alleyway they’d seen earlier, and all the way down the road. Zitao was partially pleased they were back to normal and partially annoyed—what if they drew too much attention to themselves? He was already conspicuous with his big rucksack, which Peach was hiding inside. He didn’t want people to really notice them; the plan was to appear inconspicuous. Though travelling as a three probably wouldn’t help matters either. People around them were walking in twos at most.

“Jongin,” he hissed, “Jongin, go on ahead.”

Jongin glared at him and Zitao sighed, wondering if he’d set them back.

He tried to explain. “Look, people are only walking in twos. And if you and Sehun keep fighting they’ll notice.”

“You just want time to be together,” Jongin replied. “ _Lovebirds_.” But he didn’t say it meanly, and the next moment he was a few metres ahead, walking casually, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like an Egran kid on his lunch-break. Nobody even looked at him. Zitao wondered what he’d done before he met him, before they’d started out, to get so good at pretending to be invisible.

“They’re terrible,” Sehun said. “Do you think Mum will ever realise?”

Zitao shrugged. “Maybe. Do you think Jongin will ever tell him?”

“Maybe,” Sehun replied, and they walked on slowly.

As they walked, Jongin ducked down a side-alley. They stayed back for a moment, Sehun pretending to tie his shoelaces, as they waited. Jongin couldn’t give a signal without warning the people manning the van. A second later, Jongin appeared. He walked past them, heading for the next alleyway. They had decided the best way to get in was to send Jongin in first so he could scope the place, hide in an alleyway, and teleport inside. It seemed easy enough. There was no way the driver wouldn’t see all three of them climb in, but he’d probably miss one of them.

Zitao and Sehun followed Jongin slowly, chatting to each other about nothing important, just trying to look normal, casual. They ducked into the alley when they were able. Jongin took their arms and then they stepped out.

The next moment they were in the van, which was stacked with boxes of crisps, water bottles, and cartons of powdered milk, and they quickly hid behind the boxes near the middle—not too close to the front they’d be caught but not too far away that it’d take them too much time to escape.

The journey was long and the three of them didn’t dare make any noise in case they were found out. There were two other men beside the driver in the front part of the vehicle and they looked big and a little bit scary. So they sat in silence, not daring to move, until finally they stopped.

Peach whispered, “We’re here,” in Zitao’s ear, and he nodded to the other two. They waited until the two men climbed down and opened the back doors of the van, and began unloading. Once several boxes had been moved, Zitao indicated for them to grab hold of him.

Peach’s presence behind him comfortingly, he shut his eyes, pressed against the stopwatch button, and the world froze.

They climbed off the van faster than they’d climbed off anything in their lives, and then they grabbed hold of a couple of food boxes and headed through the gates, up the tarmacked road, and into the open storage room, where a security guard was standing in frozen annoyance, waiting for the first of the deliverymen to appear.

They darted inside and moved through the room, dumping their boxes as they went, walking through the propped open door—“I can’t believe he just left it open, that’s really bad security,” Jongin said with a scoff—and into the prison.

Once inside, Zitao could feel his strength begin to wane, and time flickered before he squeezed his eyes shut and steadied it. Following signs, they soon found the entrance with its ‘guest’ tags, and they stole three quickly, pinning them to their chests, before moving away. Zitao wondered if they should fill in the guest book too, but Jongin shook his head, claiming that that’d make them easier to find, even if they wrote fake names.

Finally Zitao couldn’t take it anymore and they ducked into a side corridor as time started again, trying to move quickly through the corridors, even though Zitao was tired and swaying on his feet. More than once, Sehun had to wrap an arm around him to steady him. At one point a guard stopped them, asking why they were on their own, but they were saved by a voice calling the guard’s name.

They quickly made themselves scarce. They weren’t really sure what they were looking for, but Peach was sniffing the air, making purring noises when they got closer and growls when they moved further away.

Her purrs led them through corridors and corridors and up three flights of stairs into a high tower. There was a spiral granite staircase heading up, which was guarded by a young man—boy, really—with a round and kind face, in full prison guard garb. He was shorter than all of them and shouldn’t have been intimidating, but there was just something about him that gave Zitao pause.

Peach purred her loudest yet, and Zitao realised that either this man was who they were looking for, or whoever was up the stairs was. Or both.

“I’m sorry, you can’t go any further,” said the guard said, and he frowned. His arms were folded. “How did you even get here?”

“Um,” Zitao said, suddenly brain blank. He was still dizzy after using his power for too long and too serious a task, and he wasn’t capable of coming up with ideas.

“What’s up there?” Sehun asked innocently, and the guard frowned.

“That’s private,” he said. “You kids shouldn’t be here, you should be at school. Who let you in?”

“We’re—” Sehun said, and Zitao saw what he was doing; occupying the guard as Jongin snuck away to where the guard couldn’t see him. Zitao supposed he was going to teleport upstairs. “We’re, um, looking for someone.”

“What for?” the guard said, frowning.

“Our, um, it’s for—” But Sehun wasn’t doing any better than Zitao. The small guard could sense there was something wrong, and he looked around, but not before Jongin had teleported up the stairs.

“Wasn’t there another boy with you?” he asked, and they both shook their heads.

“No, just us,” Zitao said, trying for convincing. “We really are looking for someone, we just got lost. Can you show us the way out?”

The guard grumbled and pointed with his hand but as he did so, the area between his glove and his shirt was shown. There was some kind of dark shape there, though Zitao couldn’t see the detail, and he gave a quick but audible hiss. This was it.

But he didn’t know how to convince the guard of anything. Joonmyun would have been better, as he was their leader. But Zitao was just a grunt, just a kid sent out to find the members of their group. He didn’t know how to tell a boy that he had to leave his job, his home, to come and be unsafe, in Zyfria, with them. He didn’t know what to say.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and was broken off by a scream from above.

 

 

 

Jongin had moved up the stairs with deft footsteps, making sure he was as quiet as possible. Once he reached the top, he looked around the corner to check there were no more guards. There was one asleep in the corner.

Up there were three large doors, presumably into different rooms. He tiptoed over to the first door, to find it had a name card on the first door, but there was nobody inside when he opened the door. The room was dark and gruesome, a barred skylight letting in enough light for Jongin to see blood on the walls and a torn bedspread lying on the floor, and he tried to resist the urge to throw up and shut the door.

The second room was also empty, this one without a name card on the door. This room was neater, and, more importantly, clean. He shut this door as well.

The final room was next to the guard, and he knew he had to be quiet so he didn’t wake him up. He could also see a key around his neck, and he gathered that the final room would be locked.

He shut his eyes and teleported into the room.

The darkness hit him immediately. There was a window in the room, but it was partially covered over, giving everything in the room a shadowy, creepy effect. The next thing that hit Jongin was the smell. It smelled like someone had died in there.

There was a figure on the floor. Jongin couldn’t see it clearly, but he could tell it was a person. He wasn’t sure at first if they were alive or dead, but then they rolled over and screamed.

Jongin leaped to cover the person’s mouth, but it was too late. The door began rattling as the guard placed the key in the lock.

Jongin knew he only had a moment to do anything, so he grabbed the person and teleported to the next room over. Once there he was able to look at the person, frozen still now in fear, and he was horrified with what he saw, and he gagged immediately, trying to force his vomit back down his throat.

It was a boy, or he thought he was. He may have been young or pretty but he was sick now, stomach concave, bags deep under his eyes and cheekbones deeply sunken. He was covered in dirt and blood, the stench horrific. The skin over his wrists was thin, the veins showing through the dirt and the curious shape inked there. This boy, this sick, sick boy, was one of them.

Jongin wasted no time deciding what he should do. He took hold of the boy and, ignoring his companions, ignoring anyone else, teleported with him back to the hostel.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the boy at Yixing the moment he got back. Yixing was reading a book and looked rather surprised to see him—and then horrified when he saw what Jongin was giving him. Jongin didn’t look to see what Joonmyun’s reaction was. “Help him,” Jongin added.

Yixing took the boy and Jongin stepped out, appearing next to Zitao and Sehun.

“Excellent,” Sehun said, and he grabbed hold of the guard with one hand and Jongin with the other. Zitao gripped Jongin’s arm, and Jongin stepped back to the hostel.

“We can’t be here long,” he said, when they arrived. Yixing wasn’t there, but he heard the shower running. Joonmyun was looking worried and fidgeting. “They’ll be looking for us soon.”

“This is kidnapping!” the guard protested, looking around him in horror. “Where did you bring me?”

“A hostel,” Jongin explained, and went to sit next to Joonmyun on the bed. “I thought Hyung would be able to explain better.”

Joonmyun sighed and stood up, and then he rolled his sleeve up and held his wrist out to show the guard his tattoo. The other three did the same, holding their wrists out in a ring.

“Is this a cult? A gang?” the guard asked, taking a step back. “What is this?”

“You’ve got one too,” Zitao said. “I saw it before.”

The guard took a deep breath. “What? I—”

“I saw it, too,” Sehun said, and the guard took another deep breath before rolling his sleeve up.

On his wrist was an icicle.

“Ice!” Sehun said cheerfully. “That’ll be fun to have. You can freeze Mum’s water.”

Joonmyun chuckled, shaking his head. Zitao grinned as well.

“Hey!” Jongin burst in, his voice light-hearted; trying his best to ease the situation. His eyes lit up as suddenly his mind filled with ideas—they had someone with water and someone with ice. They could have so much fun with that. He imagined a snowball fight, building a fort, hiding behind it with Joonmyun. He imagined skating over a pond, feet light, hands tight with Joonmyun’s. They could stand there and maybe he could kiss him again, and maybe Joonmyun would kiss him back. Maybe. “Maybe we can go ice-skating? He could freeze the lakes. That would be fun, and we _deserve_ fun after all of this. Or Hyung can spray water now and we can do it now.”

“Water?” the guard asked, looking around him as if that would show him what they meant. There was a strange, fearful expression on his face.

Joonmyun, hand still stretched before him, made a bubble of water hover above his palm.

The guard sat down, heavily, on the bed. The quietest breath escaped his lips. Jongin thought it sounded like, “ _Suho_.” But it couldn’t have been, because Suho was a God. The God of Pathalff, the God of Water. That would have just been silly. It _couldn’t_ be.

But somehow it made sense, and it hovered in the back of Jongin’s mind like a virus.

“I’m Joonmyun,” Joonmyun said. “I’m on a mission to save Pathalff, and it’s your duty to help me.”

“No,” the guard said, “no, I’ve got to—there’s a person, at the prison, and I’ve got to protect him.”

“The person you were guarding in the tower?” Jongin asked bitterly. The guard turned to look at him with surprise clear in his eyes—surprise, fear, and a little bit of relief. “You were doing a _really_ terrible job of protecting him. He’s a wreck.”

If the guard hadn’t already been sitting down, Jongin thought he might have fainted. “I…haven’t seen him in a long, long time,” he said. “Is he that bad?”

Both Jongin and Joonmyun nodded. “But our healer is helping him,” Joonmyun said gently, kindly, and the guard looked up again, eyes widened.

“He’s here? Lu Han’s here?” Joonmyun nodded and the guard kind of collapsed onto himself. “He’s going to hate me.”

None of them heard the door open, or saw Yixing stand there, a boy holding onto him, weak-legged but clean and a good bit healthier, eye-bags gone, skin a bit thicker, stomach and cheekbones much less sunken, until the boy said, shakily, “I don’t hate you, Minseok. You had to do it.”

Jongin thought Minseok really might pass out.

Somehow he didn’t, and he pulled himself to his feet, ran over to the unsteady boy, and wrapped his arms around him. The boy, Lu Han, hugged him back, equally tightly. They held each other like lovers who hadn’t seen each other for years and years and years, Jongin thought, but he didn’t begrudge them it, even though Lu Han had clearly been treated awfully. He wouldn’t forgive Minseok that if he were Lu Han.

When they pulled apart, Lu Han said, “Who saved me?” He was considerably steadier now, and Jongin saw that he was pretty and young-looking. It made him smile to see him so much healthier and mentally thanked Yixing for the miracle job. He had only been cleaning him for a few minutes.

Actually, Jongin thought, Joonmyun looked a lot healthier after Yixing had sewn him up as well. Maybe Yixing had the power to make people gain weight. That was quite cool, if you were a starvation victim.

“I did,” he said, finally, raising his hand.

Lu Han smiled at him, warmly, prettily. “I am forever in your debt,” he said, and bowed, slightly. “I was dying.”

“No!” Minseok exclaimed, eyes wide. “But they assured me you’d be a prisoner of—”

“Minseok,” Lu Han said gently. “Of course they wouldn’t tell you, because you were one of them.”

Jongin was curious but he didn’t want to interrupt them. What had Lu Han been a prisoner of? But Lu Han didn’t appear to be about to divulge that information, and Jongin was soon disappointed.

“I will follow you on your mission, because I owe my life to you,” Lu Han said to Jongin, who turned pink.

“Um,” he said. “I didn’t really—it was nothing? Yixing-hyung really saved you, and it was Joonmyun-hyung’s mission that made us look for you, so, um, technically Hyung saved you? I was really just the messenger.” He felt really uncomfortable with Lu Han’s smile and assurances, like he wasn’t worthy. He was fourteen years old. He wasn’t ready for this kind of pressure. A life debt? What would he do with one of those? “Please,” he added.

Lu Han turned to Joonmyun, and smiled at him. “Hello,” he said. “You’re on a mission?”

“Yes,” Joonmyun said. “You are one of us.” He indicated Lu Han’s wrist. Lu Han held it out. Jongin still couldn’t understand the symbol, but it was pretty, now Jongin couldn’t see his veins.

“I have telekinesis,” Lu Han explained. “I can move things with my mind. It’s the biggest crime in Egra.”

They all looked at him with surprise clear in their eyes and features. Jongin wasn’t sure if it was because of his power or because of the acknowledgement of his crime.

“I would be honoured to help you,” Lu Han continued, and then he turned to Minseok, seeming to beg with his eyes.

“Very well,” Minseok said, “as you have been removed from your prison cell and I am missing, they probably already think I helped you escape, so I can’t stay here anymore. If you go, I will go with you. I’m not leaving you this time.”

Jongin turned to look at Joonmyun, who winced as the two new symbols carved themselves into his wrist, beside one another. When it was over, Jongin reached out to take Joonmyun’s hand, and the older boy let him, relaxing against him as if nothing had happened, as if Jongin had never left. Jongin wished, not for the first time, he hadn’t.

“We should start moving,” Zitao said, speaking up for the first time in several moments. “Peach says they’re on the move.”

They packed their belongings as fast as they could. Jongin went into the bathroom to scrub all the dirt and blood from under his nails. Joonmyun joined him, cleaning off what Jongin had rubbed into his skin. The hot water soothed both of them.

“I can’t believe we’ve got seven members,” Joonmyun breathed. “It feels like only yesterday that we started, and now the finish line is on the horizon. Five people and we’ll be done. Five people and it’ll be the end.”

Jongin nodded, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

 _Suho_ , a little voice in his mind whispered. _He’s a God._

And that wasn’t fair at all, because he’d done their History at school, and he knew how Suho’s story ended.


	16. Level Seven

They left without using the front doors, Jongin teleporting them out of the building quickly, leaving the key for the hostel room behind. They couldn’t check out. They couldn’t risk being caught.

It was the first time Jongin had teleported so many people at once, but there were no accidents. Nobody was left behind or injured. Joonmyun had never been so grateful before that Jongin’s teleportation worked, and worked well.

Jongin jumped them steadily to the outskirts of Egra, doing his best to avoid anybody who looked official. They had to leave without being seen or they could be captured. Joonmyun thought Jongin would probably rescue them if they were, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t really trust Jongin anymore. How could he?

They were a mile or so from Egra when he noticed the clothing that Minseok and Lu Han were wearing. Lu Han’s was a bright green pair of trousers and shirt, a colour Joonmyun had never seen before, and Minseok was in an outfit that obviously looked like a prison guard’s. They would both be easy to notice. Peach changed their clothes quickly, rubbing their ankles like she had with Joonmyun all those days before (except it hadn’t actually been that long). She gave them jeans and shirts to match the other boys, and fixed their shoes to be more comfortable to walk in. Joonmyun once again felt a clench in his throat at the reminder of how much money Zitao had spent on them. He was glad there was no money being spent then.

Joonmyun hadn’t thought about it when they were still in the hostel, having far too much on his mind, but it was a good idea to change their clothes now. They already had enough problems on their hands; they didn’t need any more.

One of those problems was discovered when Lu Han’s stomach growled loudly and he blushed, sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten.”

Joonmyun knew how that felt, so he nodded sympathetically. They hadn’t eaten yet that day, having forgotten in the mess. “We should stop and eat,” he said, stopping in his tracks. They were far away enough from Egra. They’d be safe for a few moments. “How much food do we have?”

Jongin brought forwards the new bag of food he’d taken from home, and Joonmyun felt a rush of gratitude, even through his anger at Jongin leaving them, _him_ , behind. The food would last them a few days. Maybe there would be enough to get them to Sefla, where they could buy more to get them out towards one of the other towns. When Joonmyun consulted the map, he could see that Dettish was after Sefla, and from the triangle shapes he could tell Dettish was mostly mountainous. That would be tricky.

They doled the food out between them as they sat, sharing bananas, apples, cheese and bread, making sure they had enough to eat. Joonmyun gave Lu Han a little more than the rest of them, but they didn’t complain. Many of them knew how badly Joonmyun had lived, how little food he’d had, and understood his desire to help Lu Han now he could—though Lu Han didn’t eat all of it anyway. Their lunch was good, solid food in their stomachs washed down with clear cold water, helped by small chunks of ice Minseok froze in their glasses.

When they were sated they stood once more and carried on, on their way to Sefla. Sefla, the map showed, was big, bigger than Egra, though not as big as Overm. It was a while away, another day or so.

Joonmyun had his fingers crossed, hoping that they would find another person in Sefla, another person to add to his growing entourage. Another person to help save him. There had been a person somewhere in every town they had been to so far, ignoring their brief stop in Harrif. Surely there would be another when they got there? Surely they would gain number eight?

But they had been very lucky so far. Joonmyun wondered if his luck would run out. It was very possible for there to be towns on the way that were empty of companions. Joonmyun didn’t think he would be surprised if there was nobody in Sefla. He’d think it was long overdue.

He also thought it was quite backwards that as the more people he gained, the more hidden they’d be. With six other people, he felt somewhat exposed. He felt like if they saw people, they would wonder why there was this group of boys, and that could be dangerous. He prayed that the whole idea would work, that he would really, finally, feel safe when all of them were together. That he would be safe when they were all together.

They walked in silence for a few miles, none of them feeling the need to talk. Joonmyun was lost in his own thoughts. Lu Han and Minseok were holding hands, as far as he could tell, as were Sehun and Zitao, Sehun occasionally dropping his head to rest on Zitao’s shoulders only to move it quickly. Joonmyun didn’t know what Yixing and Jongin were doing because he refused to look. Peach was on Yixing’s shoulder last he remembered.

It was another mile or so before they began to see monsters and Joonmyun wondered if they should practise once again—see how well they worked as a team.

Minseok crossed to him when he proposed it, dragging Lu Han behind him. “What if I freeze your water into throwing spears?” he suggested. “It might make it easier for both of us. There’s little I can do except freeze the moisture in their bodies.”

It was a good idea, and one Joonmyun had never thought of before. They tested it whilst the other members watched, Joonmyun firing as steady a stream as he could manage whilst Minseok dropped ice crystals from the centre of his palms. The water froze at half a metre long and broke, dropping towards the floor before it floated, perfectly secure. It rose again to arm-height.

“Wouldn’t want it to break,” Lu Han said, offhand. “Minseok can make it cold forever, though, so there’s no risk of it melting.”

Joonmyun thanked him and stretched out to take it into his hands. It was fairly light; lighter than his gun, which was not entirely a surprise. After all, it was only made of water. But it still had some weight to it, and a perfect point at the end.

Minseok took the spear from him, stood back a little, and then threw it. It soared over their heads and embedded in the side of a large, red bird, bringing it to the ground. It flapped its wings frantically at first, and then weakly, before dropping limp. Before they could make their way over to their kill, a large animal that looked somewhat like a badger, only golden brown, crawled out of its home in the ground and snatched it before their eyes, dragging it down with it.

Minseok laughed. “At least we know it works,” he said, and Joonmyun smiled back, because that would be a good sight easier to manage.

They spent the next hour practising. Yixing spent his time with Peach, having no offensive abilities and no weapon to make do, but the rest of them fought and fought. Joonmyun could feel his strength building just as he’d felt all those days ago. When they’d finished they had several small dead birds and Zitao built a fire, there on the plains, and showed them how to skin and clean the meat for eating. They wrapped the leftover meat in leaves from nearby trees and packaged it in the food bags.

It was late afternoon when they encountered an unmarked lake. Joonmyun, excited as always when there was water, ran over to check that the water was safe before dipping his toes in. Water seeped in through his skin once again, calming and resting him. Jongin and Sehun scrambled over to do the same, dipping their toes in the water and splashing it at each other, sometimes catching Joonmyun in the crossfire. He barely noticed.

“Can we ice it?” Jongin asked.

“Oh, can we?” Lu Han and Zitao chimed in.

“It’ll be so much fun,” Zitao added. “Please, Mum.” He asked Joonmyun, but Joonmyun turned to Minseok, who just grinned.

“Everybody out,” Minseok ordered, and the three of them pulled their legs out of the water just in time, as ice began spreading out into the middle of the lake from where they had sat. Soon the small lake was iced over, and Minseok stepped out onto it, keeping himself balanced and upright. “It’s strong enough,” he said. “It’ll take all of us.” To demonstrate, he leapt into the air and back down, and the ice didn’t crack.

Jongin and Zitao were the first onto the ice, Zitao gripping onto Jongin’s shoulders as they immediately began slipping. Jongin went down first, Zitao falling straight on top of him.

“Oi!” Sehun complained as he skated out after them, keeping his balance much more successfully.

Lu Han leapt after him, also balancing rather well, leaving Yixing and Joonmyun the only two on land.

Yixing turned to look at Joonmyun. “Want to try?” he asked.

 _Why not?_ Joonmyun thought, and he nodded and took Yixing’s outstretched hand, both of them stepping onto the ice at the same time.

Ice, Joonmyun learned quickly, was not at all like water. For one thing it hurt rather a lot when he slipped and fell not a moment later, banging his behind on the ground harshly. “Ow~,” he whined, pouting somewhat rather pathetically.

Jongin, who’d managed to stand up and was experimenting with keeping upright, skated over to Joonmyun and bent over, trying to pull Joonmyun to his feet without toppling either of them over. A moment later, when Joonmyun was pressed against Jongin’s stomach with his face in Jongin’s neck, he realised how futile Jongin’s attempt had really been.

“Hello,” Jongin said.

“Hello,” Joonmyun replied into Jongin’s throat, and he tried to climb up, slipping quickly on the ice and dropping back onto Jongin, who let out an _oof!_ of air. A moment later arms snaked around Joonmyun’s back, locking him in place.

“This is nice,” Jongin mused. He sounded a little dreamy. Joonmyun wasn’t sure he understood, but lay there anyway until he could hear laughter.

“Dad,” Zitao’s voice came, complete with giggles from multiple directions. “You should probably let Mum go.”

“Isn’t it cold down there?” added Lu Han’s voice.

“Joonmyun is warm,” Jongin said, sounding petulant, and he tightened his grip around Joonmyun’s waist. Joonmyun couldn’t do anything except let him, due to feeling rather trapped.

“ _Joonmyun_ ,” Sehun mocked, and he laughed.

Jongin made squeaky, embarrassed noises in his throat. “Joonmyun-hyung,” he corrected. Joonmyun hadn’t really even noticed, but he reached up awkwardly to pat Jongin on the head anyway.

Soon after, Jongin had to let Joonmyun go, although Joonmyun had been rather comfortable—not that he’d have told Jongin. He was still mad at him anyway.

They skated for a bit longer, after Yixing, Minseok and Sehun had long given up. Joonmyun wasn’t good at skating at all, though that may have been the climbing boots he was wearing. He was constantly falling over and hitting parts of himself painfully on the ice. Zitao and Lu Han would pull him up, Jongin seeming too embarrassed to try. Joonmyun wasn’t sure he’d let him again.

But eventually Joonmyun was able to move across the ice without falling over, and Jongin slunk over to him like a nervous kitten, wrapping his arms around his waist and beginning to spin them around the ice without getting Joonmyun’s permission first. It was slow, gentle, but fun; the wind hitting Joonmyun’s face in just the right way to cool him down and relax him even more than the water had. Joonmyun felt enjoyment, _pleasure_ ; something he hadn’t for some time.

When they were slowing down with dizziness and Joonmyun and Jongin the remaining two on the ice, Jongin brought them to a stop. Then, after glancing over to the group sat on the edge of the icy lakeside, pressed a quick kiss to Joonmyun’s cheek before racing away from him and skating back to the rest of them. Joonmyun raised a confused hand to press against his cheek. That was the second time Jongin had kissed him and he was no surer of what it meant this time than he had before. At least, this time, Jongin hadn’t teleported back home. That was some saving grace at least.

Joonmyun skated back over slowly.

“It’s getting dark,” Minseok said, when he was within earshot. “What do you think we should do?”

“Are you tired?” Joonmyun asked. “If you are we can put our tents up here and have dinner, get a good night’s rest.”

The group nodded their heads, the ice-skating having made everyone weary.

“Two three-persons and the two-person for the Hyungs?” Zitao asked, and Joonmyun nodded, thinking it was a rather nice idea to give the two newcomers a tent to themselves. They clearly hadn’t been alone together for a long, long time.

They set the tents up manually, without Peach’s help. It wasn’t quite as hard as it had been the first time they had tried. Soon they had three tents. Joonmyun already knew, without needing to be told, that he’d be in a tent with Jongin and Yixing. It was an arrangement that had stuck fast. They were the only ones not in relationships, after all.

They ate the leftover meat around a small fire, accompanying it with apples and cheese from the bag Jongin had brought and more glasses of water. Once they were sated, they began to bring out their sleeping bags and blankets, and they realised that Lu Han and Minseok didn’t have anything to sleep under. They also didn’t have any change of clothes.

Too tired to do anything about it, Zitao gave his sleeping bag to the other couple, and they entered their tents. They all changed their clothes, Yixing tired enough that he didn’t seem to care about the lack of privacy—or maybe he was just comfortable enough with them now that it didn’t matter, even though it had barely been two days. Then they climbed into their sleeping bags, Jongin using his like a blanket and draping it over Joonmyun and his own blanket next to him, and drifted off to sleep, trying to ignore the loud giggles and _shhhh!_ s from the other two tents.

Joonmyun dreamed that night, the first dream he remembered for a while, twelve shadowy figures, amidst a sea of larger shapes, standing in front of an army of millions, of an army of humans, animals, monsters, demons. He woke up shivering in the early morning and he crept out of Jongin’s arms and outside into the morning cold only in pyjamas, not bothering to get changed.

He was not the type of person to have prophetic dreams, but he believed in this one. He believed that he was going to find all twelve of them. He believed they were going to get to the end. He believed that there was going to be a battle.

He just had to hope that they would win.


	17. Level Seven

Joonmyun headed back into his tent when the cold became biting, and dressed quickly. The rest were still asleep. The cold, peaceful air, cleared his mind and gave him time to think about the journey and about his premonition. He had to admit it was rather exciting.

He hadn’t been out for long when there was movement from the other tents. Lu Han and Minseok came out first, their clothes rumpled in a way that suggested they had slept in them. It was far too cold, even with the comfort and protection of the tent, to sleep without clothes. Joonmyun wondered if it was the same temperature everywhere in Zyfria, or if it would warm up the further round they went. Maybe it would be warmer nearer the sea.

Peach came out after them, before Zitao and Sehun, who were holding hands, and Lu Han jumped about a foot in the air, because today she was pink.

“I don’t think cats are meant to be pink,” he said.

“They’re not supposed to fly either,” Joonmyun told him. “And it’s okay, she does this.”

“I’m not a cat!” Peach protested, angrily, and proceeded to introduce herself once more.

“Bless you,” Minseok and Lu Han chorused, to her obvious irritation. She stalked over to Zitao’s bag, which he was just pulling out of the tent, curled up in it and went to sleep in clear protest. They just laughed and left her to it.

After the drama, when all of them were dressed and outside, they sat in the cover of the tents for breakfast, eating much of the food that would go off quickly first, before packing up the tents and heading out.

It was steady going across the plains towards Sefla. They practised with the ice spear for a while, felling a sizeable rodent-like creature which they then took the time to skin and cook whilst resting in the midday heat, the hottest it had been since they had started the adventure. 

Once they were sated, they set out once again, after Joonmyun placed two solid spears into his backpack for future use. As they drew nearer, the outline of the gates becoming a little clearer, Minseok drew into himself.

Joonmyun didn’t notice at first, because aside from his early panic about Lu Han, Minseok seemed to a fairly calm and level-headed person. But after a while the quiet became a little worrying, and when Minseok stopped in his tracks, staring out into the distance, Joonmyun took it upon himself to learn why.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Minseok jumped slightly and then turned to face Joonmyun. “Oh, sorry,” he said.

Joonmyun repeated the question, and Minseok sighed.

“I was born there,” he said, “in Sefla. I was from a wealthy family. I could have chosen to be anything, to do anything with my life. But then I met Lu Han, and everything was built around protecting him.” He looked fond.

Lu Han stepped closer and curled his hand around Minseok’s elbow. “Minseok gave up his hopes and his dreams to protect me in the prison,” he said. “We both knew it was for the best.”

“It wasn’t, though,” Minseok said. “If I could have got us away earlier, maybe we could have reached Harrif or Overm and settled there, but we got caught escaping from Sefla and—” He shook his head and sighed.

Joonmyun waited for a moment before it became clear they weren’t going to say any more on the matter. Instead of pushing the matter, he said, “I hope it won’t be too bad a memory going back?”

“No,” Minseok said. “It’ll be okay. I wonder if we could see my family, though? It would be best if they didn’t see us, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

As they moved closer to Sefla, something began to disturb Joonmyun about the place, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It seemed too calm, too quiet. In all of the other places they had been to, there has been some noise from the people living there, or the machines used in the place. But there was nothing coming out from Sefla, not even the sound of birds.

“Is it usually this quiet?” Yixing asked from behind them.

Minseok shook his head. “I haven’t been here for years but I remember it always being loud. It’s more like a countryside village than a big town, but there’s usually animal noises and children playing. There’s something wrong.”

None of them wanted to be teleported into the quiet, so they walked the final thirty minutes until they reached the crumbling gates. From a distance they hadn’t been able to see the condition of the place, but close up, they could see that it was in a state of disrepair. There were overgrown flowers tumbling out of the entranceway, and as they walked through the mostly-collapsed stone arch, all the colour drained from Minseok’s face. There didn’t seem to be people anywhere.

Lu Han took Minseok’s hand as they walked through the wreckage of what had once been a vibrant village, bustling with people. Minseok looked like he needed it. Even Joonmyun felt any happiness he had been feeling leave him quickly. He wasn’t the only one, for moments later, Jongin had taken his hand in his and was squeezing it tightly. The little bit of comfort allowed him to step forwards.

“We need to see if we can find any people,” he said, trying to steel his voice so that it wouldn’t betray his sorrow, and failing somewhat.

Lu Han took the lead, dashing away his own tears and leading the group through the village. House after house was destroyed, like they had just been left to crumble after hundreds of years, but Joonmyun knew that wasn’t possible. Something must have happened there, he just didn’t know what it was. It seemed, from his first instinct, like a battle had happened. Yet that didn’t make sense, because surely the other parishes would have been talking about it? They would have heard something about it.

It was during their quiet walk that Peach poked her nose out of the bag. “It’s horrible here,” she said. “I can feel all the gloom.”

“Is there anybody here?” Joonmyun asked, a little nervously. He didn’t know what would be worse—confirmation there were no people here, or evidence there were people living in this derelict place.

“Nobody at all,” Peach answered.

This seemed to break Minseok. He ripped himself out of Lu Han’s grasp and went running through the village. They ran after him, and soon Joonmyun wished they hadn’t.

There were no people they could see, not anywhere, but there were dead animals rotting away, some only skeletons. The animals that were rotting suggested that whatever had happened hadn’t been long before, maybe only months.

When they reached Minseok, he was staring at the remainder of what had once likely been a cottage, probably picturesque and pretty with a view of the grassland behind, but was now empty, with rubble around the front, part of the walls destroyed. There was farmland out in front, now empty of anything, patches on the ground in the grass where decomposition had polluted the soil and killed anything growing there.

“I don’t think there’s anybody here,” Lu Han said.

“Where is my family?” Minseok asked, and Joonmyun could hear the tears in his voice. “What happened here?”

Jongin made his way towards where the front door had once stood. “Can I—?” he asked softly, and Minseok nodded his head before turning away. Jongin edged his way through the entrance, and then stopped in his tracks.

Joonmyun could see the way Jongin stiffened, and he headed in after him, even though every fibre of his being was telling him to stay away; that going inside would bring no good.

There was nothing inside except for the broken remains of furniture, but it was bright due to much of the walls not being there. Joonmyun could see the darkened stains on the ground very clearly, and the stench of the place was undeniable even after so long. He tried not to retch.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he said, turning away from the house, as if walking out of it could leave what he had seen behind. It wasn’t the first time he had seen blood stains. He had seen what was left of his parents, after all, though he tried to forget. He’d bottled away the nightmares months ago.

“No, I need—” Minseok began.

“Please,” Joonmyun said, “we need to leave.”

Jongin slipped his hand into his once again, as they moved away from the house, but Joonmyun knew that this was because Jongin needed the comfort.

“I need to go home,” Jongin said, quietly, to Joonmyun. “I need to check on Umma.”

Joonmyun nodded his head. “I understand,” he said. “Be safe.” He leaned up and kissed Jongin on the forehead, quiet instinctively. Somehow he knew Jongin needed that comfort. Sehun and Zitao, who didn’t understand what had happened, who didn’t understand why he had done what he did, cooed, as Jongin left.

“That was cute, Mum,” Zitao said, until Joonmyun shot him a sharp look and he stopped. He wasn’t trying to be cruel to be Zitao, as Zitao wasn’t try to be cruel to Minseok, but it just wasn’t the right time for that sort of thing.

“There’s something in there, isn’t there,” Minseok said. “Something you don’t want me to see.”

“No,” Joonmyun tried. “No, it’s not like that. We just—I have this feeling, we need to leave.”

“No, you’re—” Minseok began, frantic. He looked like he was going to attack Joonmyun. Joonmyun felt a ripple of fear run through him. If Minseok lashed out at him, the ice could mix with the water in his body. It could be the end for him.

“Minseok,” Lu Han said, reaching out to touch Minseok’s arm, panic clear in his eyes but not in his voice. “Please, let’s just move on, we’ll see if we can find something to tell us what happened. Please, Minseok, come with us. There’s nothing here.”

This time, Minseok went willingly, as Lu Han pulled him away from what had once been his home.

They only walked a little further, almost aimlessly, when they came across a graveyard.

It was beautiful, the only place with little damage. Some of the headstones were cracked in places, but for the most part it was clean; even seeming well-kept, without overgrown plants anywhere.

“This is a lot bigger than I remember,” Minseok said, sending chills running down Joonmyun’s spine at the horror of the situation.

In the centre of the graveyard stood a monument, four-sided and much like an obelisk, but not tall enough to be seen from a distance. As if sleepwalking, Minseok neared it. Joonmyun followed, his senses tingling with anticipatory dread.

The monument was made of solid black marble and there were words etched into each side of it. The header stated “In Memory of Those who Died During Tropical Storm Jungmo and the Resulting Sickness of April 04 2008”.

Underneath the header was a list of multiple names; all the people who died on that day or in the days after.

Minseok peeled over the names, palms flat against the marble. Eventually he let out a howl of despair and dropped back onto the ground, tears streaming from his eyes, body shaking.

Joonmyun moved up behind him, just close enough to read,

Kim Seokmin, 김석민, 1974-2008  
Kim Hyerin, 김헤린, 1977-2008  
Kim Minha, 김민하, 1995-2008

“I should have been here,” Minseok choked out through his tears.

“There was nothing you could do,” Lu Han said softly. “They died of natural causes. You would have died as well if you had been here. Everybody died.”

“But I should have,” Minseok said. “It’s not right that I’m alive and they’re dead.”

“You’re alive because you have to be, for mine and for Joonmyun’s sakes,” Lu Han said softly. “Please don’t do this to me. I love you.” He sounded like he was going to start crying as well. Joonmyun began to inch away backwards, not wanting to intrude. He’d better see what Yixing, Zitao and Sehun were doing.

But he didn’t get far before Minseok stood up, spread out his arms, and screamed into the air.

His scream resonated through the air, which, until then, had only really been broken by the sound of their feet, and their quiet words.

Suddenly there was a strong gust of wind. It wrapped itself around Minseok, throwing Lu Han and Joonmyun away from him.

Joonmyun hit the ground hard, but not as hard as Lu Han, who went crashing into a gravestone. Joonmyun wasted no time in rubbing his sore body and instead ran straight over to Lu Han, helping him up off the ground.

They stood together, frozen, watching as the wind around Minseok spiralled faster and faster. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but he seemed to be growing taller and taller and the wind spiralled higher.

As they watched, Yixing, Zitao and Sehun inched closer until the five of them were stood together, hands entwined as fear rushed through all of them. Joonmyun didn’t understand what was happening.

Finally, the wind evaporated as if it had never been there, leaving Minseok behind in its wake.

It hadn’t been an optical illusion at all. And, unfortunately, that wasn’t the only difference.

 

 

 

Jongin had jumped to the outskirts of Mavia, knowing that there was a block there stopping magic from being used.

What he hadn’t counted on was the group of guards waiting for him.

They were on him in a second, before he could even see them, grabbing hold of him and trying to clip metal bracelets around his wrists. Jongin presumed they were to stop him from using his powers and panicked, elbowing and kicking out with as much strength as he could muster. Somehow he got most of them away from him, and he teleported away as best he could.

One guard came with him, he realised, when he landed in the plains somewhere near water, possibly the second lake they had met, the one they had frozen just the previous day. The guard did his best to clip the bracelets onto him so Jongin stepped out again, arriving by the first lake. He shoved at the guard until he fell into the water—the horrible, prickly water that had bitten Joonmyun all those days ago.

The guard fell in with a terrible, inhuman noise, wailing like a ghost. Jongin felt cold wrack through his whole body, like he’d been the one dumped into freezing water.

Jongin paused for a moment, wondering what to do next. He didn’t know if this meant he couldn’t visit his family at all—something which worried him tremendously after what he’d seen in Minseok’s old house—or if he should go back to the group. He felt like there would be something very wrong with either decision he made.

But what won out was his family. He had to see how close to Mavia he could get.

This time, he teleported back into a tree outside so he could see where the guards where. Unfortunately for him, they were absolutely everywhere, and clearly looking around, eagle-eyed, for him. Jongin couldn’t see any possible way for him to get in without noticing. Or not without invisibility magic, at any rate. And sadly enough, he didn’t know where to find someone with such a power.

Jongin pondered the possibility of wearing a disguise and then pretending to have gone out for some herbs for his mother, but discounted it almost immediately. He didn’t know how long the guards had been standing there. Long enough to know it was a lie, he suspected.

With that, he left, taking his time to dot himself around various places before he reached Sefla, just in case he was being tracked by anything. He’d dusted off his clothing when he stopped at the second lake again, but he wouldn’t know until he changed his clothes whether anything had stuck. He just wanted to get back to see how everyone was.

When he got back to Minseok’s house, nobody was there, but he could hear a scream. He took off towards it, and was just in time to watch Minseok turn into some kind of…thing, that looked only half human and had a tinge of blackness all over its skin. Minseok’s eyes were no longer his, but entirely black.

“Welcome,” the-thing-that-wasn’t-Minseok boomed, “to my home. Isn’t it lovely?”

Jongin felt shivers run down his spine, and he ran forwards to the small group of people cowering by a gravestone, feeling the desperate need to be close to Joonmyun.

“What happened?” Jongin asked quietly, pressing his palm against Joonmyun’s back. The boy turned to face him, eyes like saucers, but he didn’t reply. Jongin wondered if he was even capable of speaking right now.

“I am the spirit of this place,” the spirit continued. “I was waiting for a willing vessel to arrive, and now I have one. Thank you very much for bringing it to me.”

Jongin was scared, but at the same time he couldn’t believe the nerve of the creature.

“No!” he called out. “We brought you nothing. Give our friend back.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” the spirit said, not sounding sorry at all. “It is mine now.”

“No,” Lu Han said softly. “You’re not having him.”

“I seem to have him, child.” The creature sounded amused.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Lu Han said. “And you don’t deserve a vessel like him. He’s too pure, too good, for you.”

“He asked to be taken,” the monster continued. “He cried for me.”

“Well, I won’t ask,” Lu Han said. “I’ll take him back.”

He threw out his arms and parts of broken gravestones, heavy rocks, and the gravel from the paths all lifted into the air. With a wave of his hand, they all flew towards the monster with Minseok’s face.

It wasn’t quick enough to get out of the way, and the stone connected hard and solidly, but aside for some quick bruising, there seemed to be no damage done.

This enraged Lu Han, and snapped the rest of the group into fight mode, even Joonmyun. Yixing was looking out for any injuries caused as the monster itself started retaliating, flinging its own source of rubble at them, but mostly controlling the wind. Sehun seemed to find controlling it his own way rather difficult.

Joonmyun rained water down on it, and shooting with his pistol, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything. Jongin and Zitao took turns to run in when time was stopped and stab at the creature, but that seemed to barely hurt it either.

It seemed, for a moment, like all was lost.

Watching Joonmyun grow more and more upset hurt Jongin to his core. They hadn’t known Minseok very long, but he’d been part of the group, and he’d been important to Joonmyun and to his cause. Without him, nobody knew what would happen to them or to their mission. And he’d been Lu Han’s boyfriend. Jongin couldn’t think how it would be like for Lu Han to lose him again, after they had only just been reunited.

But there seemed to be no way of defeating the monster that had overtaken Minseok. Water wasn’t defeating it, nor air or physical pain. It seemed indestructible, an interesting counter to the village they were standing in, the broken, destroyed graveyard that had, only moments before, stood tall and undamaged.

And then it struck Jongin.

They hadn’t tried ice.

“Joonmyun!” he shouted. “The spears!”

It was worth using them, even wasting them, if it helped at all. For Minseok was of ice, and the monster had been born of it. To most people, the rational solution would be fire, but they had none of that, and ice was all they had left.

Joonmyun’s eyes lit up as it hit him as well, and he tugged the spears out. The monster, upon seeing them, began to shift backwards, unknowingly, until its back hit the monument.

Joonmyun threw one spear to Jongin, and Jongin caught it. It was cold against his palm, but not unbearably so. Together, they threw the spears, and they impaled themselves in the flesh of Minseok’s possessor.

The ice spread out from its impact points, creeping both up and down until it had overtaken the entire body, freezing it solid against the marble.

For a moment, nothing happened. Jongin wondered if he was wrong. If what he’d suggested had just killed their friend as well. If, in a moment, Joonmyun’s wrist would once again be missing a symbol; blood dripping, skin torn away.

They held their breath, hoping for a miracle, and something must have been looking out for them, because they were granted one.

The ice began to crack, huge chunks of the monster falling away with it, until there was none of it left, just a body slumped onto the floor.

Lu Han was first over, tears streaming down his cheeks, Yixing close behind.

“He’s alive,” Yixing said, after placing his ear against Minseok’s mouth and chest. “But we need to get away. Anything could happen.”

Jongin headed over to them after a nod from Joonmyun, and took hold of Lu Han, Yixing and Minseok’s prone body, and stepped out, taking them to the edge of Sefla. Then he stepped back and took the rest back there, fingers clamped tightly around Joonmyun’s smaller ones.

Nobody said a word, but they all knew that although they would prefer to be away from Sefla, they couldn’t move Minseok very far. So Jongin did his best to hop them around Sefla until they were on the far side, facing what the map told them was Dettish, the rocky, mountainous area of Pathalff. He took them two jumps this way, until Sefla was barely a glimpse in the distance, and then they settled down there, opening tents. Lu Han asked Yixing to sleep in their tent until Minseok woke up. Jongin felt a little selfish that he was glad that it was just him and Joonmyun who would be in the tent.

They ate dinner first; leftovers and fruit, but nobody’s appetite was big. Everything that had happened was upsetting.

“We need to talk about this,” Joonmyun said, but didn’t continue. They all knew it would be better to put off until the next day, at the least.

“Let’s sleep,” Yixing suggested, and they all nodded in agreement. Before they went, Jongin just about remembered to ask Peach to change his clothes, which she did, yawning all the while as she rubbed his ankles. He didn’t think to mention he’d been caught. It would wait until tomorrow.

Once in the tent, Jongin undressed as fast as he was able, wanting to be as close to Joonmyun as fast as possible. He slid into his sleeping bag, wrapping it around Joonmyun’s lanky form, and then pulled him close into his arms. “Sleep well,” he whispered into Joonmyun’s hair.

Joonmyun didn’t reply, just buried in closer, and Jongin thought that even if Joonmyun wasn’t starting to forgive him, at least that was something he could live with.


	18. Level Seven

Even after they had all woken up, Minseok was still unconscious. Lu Han and Yixing didn’t want to leave his side even for a moment, not even for breakfast.

“We can’t leave until he’s up,” Yixing said, flatly, giving no room for argument. Joonmyun wouldn’t have anyway; he knew he was right. With Minseok down it would be impossible to head on towards Dettish.

The remaining four had a meagre breakfast, more forcing themselves to eat from necessity than anything else. They had no appetite but if they didn’t eat, it wouldn’t be good. They doled out portions for the other three for when they were ready and then ate their own. Breakfast was a quiet affair.

“That was scary,” Zitao said, when they’d finished. He was squeezed in close to Joonmyun, Sehun’s hand on his knee, and looked like he could do with the comfort. Joonmyun laced his fingers in between Zitao’s. “It was…it was a ghost town. Everybody was dead. How could we have not heard about it?”

It was a good question, and one Joonmyun had thought the previous day. There had been no word that anything had happened in Sefla. None of their members had heard about a tropical storm in the area. The fact that it only hit and damaged one parish was also extremely peculiar. Yet somebody must have known. Who could have set up a memorial to a dead village if nobody knew about the dead villagers?

But they didn’t want to keep thinking about something so miserable. Jongin suggested they practise some more, get something for lunch and ease their worries.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said shortly when Sehun asked him how his home visit had been. The brush-off, so unlike Jongin, worried Joonmyun. This was the glummest Jongin had been since he’d returned from home that first time all those days before. Though the fact he’d come back this time, of his own volition, was probably telling in itself; and not in a good way.

Something had clearly happened. Joonmyun filed it away for later.

They told Yixing and Lu Han to give some kind of sign if Minseok woke up, leaving Peach behind with them for assistance, and then set out into Zyfria to find target practice and some lunch.

 

 

 

Nobody spoke for some time. Nobody was in the mood for it.

Between them, they felled a monster; a large doglike creature with spiky fur and only three legs, although by design or misfortune, they couldn’t tell. It would do well for lunch, to feed the seven of them. Joonmyun suddenly had the realisation that due to being a kind of robot, Peach never ate. There were a lot of things he hadn’t noticed about her.

Joonmyun felt his spirits rise with the expectation of good, hot, fresh meat for lunch. Eating food they had killed and cooked themselves was an amazing feeling, and one of the healthiest ways to eat. Joonmyun was putting on weight by the day, even after the incident in Effan. It was good for him. He hoped it would be the same for Lu Han, the other of their group who had had a lack of regular solid meals.

It was a fulfilling hour to get their thoughts away from misery, filled with action and strengthening in Joonmyun’s blood. There was no sign from the camp, but Joonmyun began to get tired, and he told them he’d go back. Jongin suggested they all head there.

“Did you know that Lu Han is Golmene?” Zitao asked suddenly, jolting them all out of the silence that Joonmyun had already begun to get used to.

Joonmyun slowed, thinking about it. There had been no mention, nor sign, of it, but then again; Zitao hadn’t told them, either. “No,” he replied, after a few moments. “How do you know?”

“I went out last night to—you know—” Zitao began, avoiding the words, although Joonmyun was well aware. He’d had nights out in the cold as well, sometimes. Sometimes, when they were caught short, they had to. “And he was talking in his sleep, in Golmene.”

He bit his lip and stopped, looking up at the sky for a moment. The rest of them stopped as well, Jongin seeming confused and Sehun looking that strange kind of fond he’d been wearing for days. It was a good look on him.

“It’s—you know I went my whole life in Harrif with just my parents and Wu Fan-hyung?” The word sounded strange from Zitao’s mouth, even though Joonmyun knew it was Peach’s magic at work and he was saying it in his own language. “I never met another Golmene before, this side of home, and now I’ve met two. You really bring people together, Mum,” he said. He reached out and slid his hand into Joonmyun’s, smiling a little shyly. Joonmyun squeezed it, smiling back.

Just at that moment, there was a loud meow, sounding through the trees in a way odd enough that it stood out, but not so much so that any spies wouldn’t think it natural.

“I guess that’s the signal then,” Jongin said casually, and they sprinted back to their camp, Sehun and Jongin carrying their kill between them.

When they reached it, the group was outside; Yixing and Lu Han sitting with Minseok propped up between them, resting rather heavily on his boyfriend’s side. He looked weak, pale, and probably also hungry. Joonmyun wondered if being hit with ice had affected him in any way, even though he was technically of ice himself.

“Hello,” Joonmyun said, softly, and Minseok smiled back, clearly tired and injured but awake.

“Hello,” he replied.

“There’s breakfast, did you see?” Joonmyun continued, and Minseok shook his head. Zitao ran to get the meat they’d left and brought it for him.

Minseok dived in like a rabid, starved, animal, and only when he’d finished did the rest of them sit down. None of them wanted to broach the subject.

“So,” Minseok said, “Sefla.”

“I’m so sorry,” Joonmyun rushed out. “If there’s anything we can do—?”

Minseok lifted a hand to stop him. “No,” he said. “It’s okay. I need to talk about it.”

Joonmyun thought he should probably grieve a little longer, but didn’t want to say so. It wasn’t his place.

“Have…have any of you lost family members?” Minseok asked shakily. He looked away from them, down at himself, and started tugging at threads on his new shirt that had come loose during his possession. Lu Han stretched out to take Minseok’s hand, gently uncurling his fingers from the material before he ruined his clothing.

“Yes,” Joonmyun said. “My parents are dead, and my brother left before it happened. I don’t know where he is and I don’t care.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Jongin asked, quietly, “how did they die?” He looked unsure, like Joonmyun would reject him.

Joonmyun shrugged. “I don’t know. I think they drowned, but nobody ever told me how they died. It was suspicious and it was in some kind of accident. That’s all I know.”

Zitao reached over and took his hand. Jongin looked like he wanted to as well, but he wrapped his fingers around each other and looked down.

“My parents are dead, like Mum’s,” Zitao said. “They died only a few years after we moved here. Our house was attacked by a gang of robbers, and they tried to protect me.” He clenched his hand in his trousers, and Joonmyun squeezed the hand he was holding, trying to give back the comfort Zitao had given him. “Wu Fan and his mother are my only family left, aside from you.”

Joonmyun felt unbelievably touched. He just didn’t have the words to say so.

“Mine are dead as well,” Sehun said, and then looked away from them all. He didn’t say how they died. “My brother left after.” Joonmyun had the suspicion that Sehun didn’t care where his brother was any more than Joonmyun cared where his was. Far away, he hoped, at least.

“Mine aren’t,” Yixing said, looking a little sheepish that he didn’t have a disappointing and sad tale to tell. “My parents divorced when I was little. My father stayed in Golmenia, my mother moved with me to Nowal. She got remarried and I have two half-siblings and an older stepsister. I don’t really know the little ones that well, but Qian-noona is great. I left soon after I gained my power; to train in Effan.”

There were only Jongin and Lu Han left. They looked at each other for a moment, as if willing each other to talk. After a moment, Lu Han looked away. Jongin sighed.

“My family is alive,” Jongin said, and then sighed, fingering his ponytail, “but I can’t get to them. _They_ know where my family is. I couldn’t get in to see them.” He bit his lip and shrugged. “They were waiting for me, outside Mavia. They grabbed hold of me and I had to jump to different places to shake one guy off.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I dropped him in that lake, the one with the biting things. I figured that’ll stop them following us for a little while.”

Joonmyun found his face pulling into a smile despite how sad everything was. He couldn’t quite help leaning over to wrap arms around Jongin and give him a quick hug. “It’ll be okay. They won’t hurt them. They’ll be fine.” He pulled back for a moment. “Do they know where we are?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin said, shrugging. “I got Peach to change my clothes yesterday in case there was a tracker inside them.”

That explained why Jongin’s clothes were new, Joonmyun realised belatedly. He didn’t tend to notice what Jongin was wearing, though.

“We should probably move on soon, in any case,” Joonmyun said. “I’m so sorry, Minseok-sshi.”

Minseok shrugged. “It’s okay. It happens.” He turned to Lu Han. “You should tell them.”

“Why?” Lu Han asked, sounding almost frosty.

“They should know, before we get there.”

Lu Han looked like he was going to argue, but then he deflated quickly. “My parents,” he said, “live in Dettish. I’m not from Sefla and I’m not from Egra, either. I was born in Golmenia, like Zitao and Yixing.” When he saw Joonmyun about to open his mouth, his mouth stretched into a smile, he raised his hand to stop him. “It’s not a good thing that they are in Dettish. My parents sold me to the Egran authorities for the money to buy a house and a restaurant in Dettish. I don’t know where the restaurant is, but I know what it’s called. It’s called _Deer Friends_. It’s a pun on our surname, Lu.” He gave a little shudder, though Joonmyun wasn’t sure whether that was because he was cold or disgusted. “Can we avoid it, if we see it? Please?”

“We’ll do our best,” Joonmyun said, although he couldn’t see why they would ever need to visit the restaurant and therefore couldn’t see the problem. But he didn’t want to promise. He couldn’t be at all sure where they would go. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

Lu Han shrugged. “It happened. You got me out.” He turned away. “Can we have lunch before we move on?”

Joonmyun knew what he was asking. He was asking for more time for Minseok, and more time for himself. “Sure,” he said, and then patted the monster. “We’re not in immediate danger.”

It took them half an hour to clean the beast and slice meat off it, and they grilled it over an open fire.

“I hope someone has fire for a power,” Sehun muttered, grumbling almost, breaking the silence, as they ate. “This is lousy work.”

“What, eating?” Jongin teased him, laughing. When Sehun began to protest, he interrupted him, “No, I know what you mean. It would be better if we could cook.” He laughed and clapped Sehun on the back.

“It tastes good enough,” Zitao said, shrugging, stuffing another slice of meat into his mouth with his fingers. They were covered in dirt and grease from the fat as it cooked. “No vegetables maybe, but it tastes good. And we’ve got water, and we’ve even got ice for when it’s hot. What more could you want?”

Nobody answered. There was so much they wanted, and so much they couldn’t have.

 

 

 

Somewhere, far away, an army was assembling.


	19. Level Seven

The sun was lower in the sky when they packed up their tents and set out towards Dettish.

Dettish was a fair distance from the spot where Joonmyun thought they were, judging on how far they had come from Sefla, but not more than a day away. Joonmyun thought it may even be possible to get there before dawn, and they would have to hope it wasn’t deserted, so they could buy supplies. Even with the leftovers of the dog creature, they wouldn’t have food to last past dinner. Their bagged food was diminishing too quickly, what with seven of them eating decent-sized portions regularly, when they didn’t have to ration it out.

Lu Han’s story preyed on Joonmyun’s mind, along with Jongin’s. He hoped there would be something he could do to ease the pain they both had to have been feeling, but he couldn’t yet think what. He wanted to comfort them, but he didn’t know how to comfort the older boy, and he was strangely, once again, too nervous to reach out to Jongin, even though it had been a while since he had thought about Jongin leaving.

Their journey was quiet, but swift, all of them walking at a pace faster than normal as if they knew that the end was drawing near, that something bad was out to get them. It was like an invisible force was nipping at their heels, making them hurry.

The truth was that most of them hoped that a new parish, new environment, would distract from the memory of what had happened in Sefla, and perhaps even cleanse them. None of them had mentioned Minseok’s possession, not even Minseok, and none of them wanted to. It was as if not mentioning it would mean it had never happened, even though they were all aware of it, and of Minseok’s dead family, along with all the other dead named on the monument.

They kept going, forcing their way past monster homes in the ground, and trying to hide from the large birds and other creatures that flew overhead. One such creature was large, almost as big as the evil bird had been, and red and orange all over, like some kind of fire bird. It was beautiful, and although it could have attacked them easily, it didn’t. Joonmyun felt safer with it there. He was also sure that even if it turned against them, his water would be effective against it.

He made sure that as long as the bird protected them, they didn’t attack it in return.

When the sun set later in the evening, they powered on with the assistance of Zitao’s torch, and also Peach, who woke up from her sleep to help guide them. Today her pink fur was luminous, helping to light the way.

Without any sound aside from the crunching of their shoes against the dry grass around certain parts of the monster homes, they kept going through the night, not even stopping for dinner until it was dark. Zitao’s watch said it was after ten. They finished off the dog monster and the end of the fruit and nuts in their bags, and continued on before they could get lulled to sleep.

When it broke two in the morning, they found themselves so tired they had to make small talk in order to keep themselves awake, although none of them truly felt like talking about anything substantial. Joonmyun considered stopping and putting up their tents for the night, but they’d left too late for that to be comfortable. He’d feel safer in Dettish. They could get a guesthouse room or two. They would probably need two now. They had barely fit in one with five of them, and there were seven now. Hopefully it would be eight, or more, soon.

They pushed on until Zitao’s torch flickered and he plugged it into one of Peach’s sockets to gain energy. Peach led the way instead, flying ahead of them and flying back to meet them constantly. It made Joonmyun so dizzy that after a while he started dragging his feet whilst looking anywhere but at her. Jongin noticed and came over to wrap an arm around Joonmyun’s waist as he’d done before. Joonmyun leant into his embrace willingly, and Jongin let him.

With Jongin supporting his weight, Joonmyun found it a little easier to make it towards three o’clock, when they started seeing the outline of rocky formations in the distance. Seeing the sight of the parish gave them extra energy, and Joonmyun picked himself off Jongin and deliberately didn’t look at him as he continued onwards.

They reached the outskirts of Dettish before it turned four. There were no gates around this parish; nothing to separate it from Zyfria, except for the simple fact that Zyfria was flat and Dettish mountainous, the entrance spiking high above their heads. They had no rope, so they had to make their way up the formations carefully, Peach shining as brightly as she was capable, so they didn’t fall.

It was quiet, as they were too busy puffing with lack of breath to speak to each other as they climbed as far as they could see, trying to find civilisation. Eventually, the first sign of houses appeared. Joonmyun flopped on the grass at the edge of the mountainside once he’d reached the first, and waited for the rest of them.

They stayed on the ground for a good ten minutes, getting their breath back. Once they were able to talk without it hurting, Sehun said, “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s certainly the best way to keep intruders out,” Lu Han added.

It was closer to five at this point, and the sky had brightened up considerably in the last half hour. But they were all exhausted, so they forced themselves onto their feet and staggered along the road until Minseok pointed out the dangling sign of a hotel, an H hanging from the outside of a small, run-down little building.

Joonmyun pushed the door open first, and was greeted with a sleepy-looking man probably no older than they were.

“Minho at your service. How can I help?” he asked, and covered his mouth to hide a yawn. Joonmyun felt himself reciprocate.

As Joonmyun yawned, Minseok stepped up, either as the eldest or as a tired person who needed to sleep, and soon. “How many rooms do you have?”

Minho looked at a shiny square in front of him, and squinted. It seemed to be some kind of technology, but different from the machines that Zitao had used, when they’d first met him, to tune up Peach. They had been called computers, Joonmyun had learned later. The machine Minho was using was similar, yet also different. Smaller. “Three,” he said, finally, and he gave the price per room. It was double the price of the last they’d booked back in Egra, but even so, Zitao handed over the loose coins for two and they took the keys and headed up to their rooms; Lu Han, Minseok and Yixing in one and the other four and Peach in the other. Once inside, they locked the doors and collapsed, fully clothed apart from their shoes, into the two beds available, and were asleep almost instantly.

 

 

 

Joonmyun woke when the sun was high in the sky.

He looked around. The first thing he noticed was that he’d fallen into bed with Jongin, who was curled up into a little ball beside him. He hadn’t particularly been expecting to find himself in bed with Sehun or Zitao, but somehow it still surprised him. The second thing he noticed was that the others were all still asleep.

He climbed out of bed and padded over to the attached bathroom, realising that for the first time since he’d started his journey he would be able to use it alone. He left the door unlocked anyway, in case one of them needed to use the toilet, but inwardly hoped that they wouldn’t wake before he had completed his shower.

He undressed swiftly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. As he climbed into the shower and had a look for the switch to turn it on, he wondered whether he should wash his clothes. It was several days—four—since Peach had given him a new shirt, and longer since he’d changed the jeans he was wearing, and his underwear, well, the less said about his two pairs the better. Jongin, Yixing and Zitao were the only ones who had changed their clothes recently. The rest of them were living in the clothes they had been given, except Yixing.

The switch for the shower was a large button in the middle of the wall, and when he pressed it a torrent of almost too-hot water rained down upon him. It was so hot that he couldn’t bear it for too long—he didn’t have temperature control powers as well as control of water—, so he scrubbed at himself quickly with a brush and a small pink bar of soap, as he soaked water into his skin and body. There was a bottle of liquid soap for his hair, and he squeezed a small bit into his palm and massaged it into his scalp as quickly as he could, running it through the hair that was now even further past his shoulders. Once he was done, he threw himself out of the shower and patted himself down in the thin towels provided.

He ran the towel over the mirror above the sink, fogged up by the heat of the water, and looked at himself.

He’d changed, over the last eleven days since he’d first left Thirrum, beginning this journey. Gone was the emaciated, starving boy in his rags, his lank hair hanging limp against the back of his neck, down below his shoulders. He’d put on weight, and the colour had come back into his cheeks, a little bit of pink, along with the tiniest tinge of a tan. There were muscles growing stronger in his legs from all the walking they were doing, now over halfway across the island from where they had started.

It may have been stressful, it may have been nerve-wracking and hard work, but there was no doubt in Joonmyun’s mind that this journey was doing him good. Just getting out of Thirrum had helped him so much.

He dressed in his clothes and left the bathroom, to find his companions still asleep. “Up!” he barked, and then whipped the blankets off both beds. The three boys pulled their knees to their chests immediately.

“Mum!” Sehun whined, head pressed into the pillow, close to Zitao’s face. “Five more minutes.”

“No,” Joonmyun said, and he leant over to check the watch on Zitao’s wrist. It was well after lunch. “It’s late. We should all get some food and then see if there’s anyone in this parish.”

Jongin was easier to wake up, though he seemed particularly sad when he realised that Joonmyun had already showered without him. “I thought that we’d—” he began sadly, before shaking his head.

“Go, before the lovebirds,” Joonmyun said, ignoring the implications of his words, and pushed him into the bathroom.

Whilst Sehun and Zitao were trying to get themselves a few more minutes of shuteye, he headed next door to wake up the other three, only to find them already up and showered.

“We were just going to come and find you,” Minseok said with a smile, as Yixing opened the door, hair still wet. “We’ll come through in a moment.”

“They haven’t all showered yet,” Joonmyun said. “Give us another ten minutes and come through. I just wanted to check.”

He headed back to find that Jongin had finished his shower, and he was wrapped in a towel as his long hair, messed all over his head, dripped unpleasantly onto the blankets. “It was too hot,” Jongin said, despite the fact he was shivering. “And there was nobody to scratch my back for me.” He gave Joonmyun a slightly cross look. Joonmyun just shrugged and reached over to smooth out Jongin’s hair, finger-combing it until it was straight. Jongin usually wore it in a ponytail, wrapped up in a band that he often wore on his wrist, so Joonmyun felt for it and helped tie it back so it would be less of a nuisance. Jongin lifted his hands to rest on Joonmyun’s waist as he did so, and Joonmyun wondered if he was trying to pre-emptively steady him. He appreciated the gesture, although it was somewhat unnecessary.

“There,” Joonmyun said, stepping back and smiling down at Jongin. “I should probably do that with my own hair,” he added thoughtfully. He hadn’t particularly noticed his hair during the trip, but it was the kind of thing that could cause problems if it whipped into his eyes during a crucial moment in a fight.

Jongin offered up the other band around his wrist, and Joonmyun made quick work of his own hair, fixing it into a ponytail out of the way. “You should probably get dressed,” he said pointedly, eyeing Jongin’s towel.

Grumbling, Jongin did as he asked, beginning to dress, as Joonmyun nudged Peach awake. First thing he had her do was change his clothes, into a new pair of black jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt. He remembered his trouble with the clothes that first time he’d tried them on and smiled. There were many things he still didn’t understand, but a zip was no longer one of those.

Once Joonmyun was dressed in his new, clean, clothes, he asked her to see if she could sense a tattoo in the parish. After a few moments of silence, in which the other five joined them, she nodded her head.

“He’s hidden the scent somehow,” she said. “I don’t know how he did it, though. But he’s here.”

Joonmyun let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. There was another person here, another one of their twelve.

“How do you know it’s another boy?” Jongin asked. “We’re all guys.”

“It’s quite sexist,” Zitao agreed. Joonmyun didn’t know what that word meant, but he could make a guess.

Peach gave a strange kind of movement, almost like a cat-shrug. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know it’s a boy. I don’t know how I know, but I know. He’s…in a restaurant.”

There must have been many, many restaurants in the area, but Lu Han’s face paled.

“What’s its name?” Minseok asked, sliding his hand into Lu Han’s, trying to comfort him.

“The Royal Mountain,” Peach said. “It’s the topmost restaurant in Dettish. I mean that both ways.”

“Sounds posh,” Zitao said. “Posh and expensive.”

“It is,” she said. She went quiet for a few moments, her eyes glazing over, and Joonmyun presumed she was gathering data on the restaurant.

“Is he working or eating there?” Joonmyun asked, looking over at Zitao’s watch once more. It was too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. “Working,” he decided, answering his own question.

Peach blinked. “There’s a path up through the town to get up to the top of the mountain. There is a really good café on the way up, apparently, Deer—”

“No-no-no-no-no,” Lu Han said loudly over her voice. “No.”

“Anywhere else we can get food at this time of day?” Joonmyun asked.

She found them another café, a small, foreign one far from Deer Friends. It was the first time Joonmyun had ever seen one, let alone eaten in it. They sat at a long table in the window, watching the world go by, but making sure one person always had his eye on the door. They couldn’t risk getting trapped in if they needed to make a quick escape.

Zitao treated them all once more, understandably due to still being the only person with money amongst them. They had foreign sandwiches and cake slices to share out. Joonmyun had bites of egg and ham and peppers and cheese, and of vanilla and chocolate and strawberry. They had coffee and water to drink, and Joonmyun felt like he could go back to sleep somewhere like that; somewhere warm and cosy with good food. He knew it was impossible, though. He had also lived seventeen years without cafés, and he didn’t need them now.

They didn’t spend too long in the café before they had their fill and left, making their way up through the hilly paths towards the large, white, square building they had learnt was the Royal Mountain.

As they neared, Joonmyun worried. Who was he, what was he like? He’d been fortunate with his companions so far, but he never knew when his luck might change.

Finally they reached the top of the mountain, after a steady but somewhat punishing walk. The mountain would probably have been classed as small by those knowledgeable about such things, but to the group it was enormous. The back of Joonmyun’s calves burned and he dropped onto a bench outside the restaurant to catch his breath. The rest followed suit; even Jongin, who had pretty strong muscles in his legs alongside those of his arms.

Whilst they rested, they watched the entrance of the restaurant, trying to work out how best to enter. One glance at the menu by Minseok showed that it was too expensive even for Zitao to consider.

“How are we going to get in to find who it is?” Sehun asked. “We can’t exactly hover around the kitchens waiting for someone to come out.”

It turned out that actually they could. Once they had finished resting, they all made their way around the restaurant to the back kitchen door, trying their best to be inconspicuous and unsuspicious. It was a difficult task, considering there were seven of them, but they made it there without any mishaps. Then they crouched on the ground and tried to communicate in whispers and mime so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. Knowing them, they’d talk too loudly and the head chef or the manager would come out to get rid of them, and then they’d never manage. It would be late in the evening by the time the boy left and they could easily miss him.

After thirty minutes of trying not to be conspicuous, Peach sighed, and shook herself, turning herself into a ginger kitten. She hopped up onto one of the ledges outside an open window and sneaked herself inside.

Zitao twitched. “She’s going to get turned into food!” he hissed.

“She knows what she’s doing,” Jongin whispered back.

“Plus, she’s a machine,” Sehun argued. “They’d be able to tell if they tried to cook her.”

That didn’t seem to calm Zitao down any more than if they’d said nothing at all. He was unable to sit down until a few moments later, a girl no older than Jongin and Sehun came out with Peach in her arms, scratching her under her chin. Peach purred, seemingly perfectly content in her arms.

“Peach!” Zitao cried out, rushing to take her from the girl, who was dressed in a long white apron with her name stitched in the corner; Sunyoung. Another employee. It was only then that Joonmyun realised what Peach had done for them.

“You should probably keep a closer eye on your cat,” Sunyoung said. “You were lucky the Boss wasn’t in. He’d have skinned her alive had he seen.”

“We’re very sorry,” Joonmyun said. “It won’t happen again.” It wouldn’t need to. But Sunyoung turned to head back in and he knew he had to hurry, before he lost the opportunity. “Just—just a quick question before you go.”

Sunyoung stopped and turned to look at him. “Yes?” she asked. Her face was round and kind, but her eyes had strength in them, and Joonmyun knew he had to talk quickly or she’d lose patience with him.

Joonmyun didn’t know how to word it without seeming particularly creepy, but he did his best. “To work in a place like this, I don’t suppose anyone has tattoos or piercings, or anything?”

She furrowed her brow at him, and he could see her contemplating just leaving. After a moment, she seemed to think he was harmless. “No,” she said. “Nothing of the sort, we’d be fired for it. Though I think Kyungsoo-oppa has a tattoo. His wrist’s been wrapped up all week. He said he cut it on something, but I spotted ink. He won’t be able to hide it for much longer, though.”

At the mention of a name, of a real person, Joonmyun could feel himself shake with nervous energy. “Would it be…this is going to be weird, but I think I might know him. Would it be possible to talk to him during his break?”

She raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. It wasn’t that unfair of her. Joonmyun knew he’d feel sceptical in her situation as well. “I don’t see the harm in talking,” she decided. “I’ll do what I can.” And then she was gone.

Joonmyun collapsed back onto the floor and stared at the sky, breathing deeply, even though he hadn’t done anything except tell a white lie. He didn’t know Kyungsoo yet. But he would soon.

It’s another ten minutes before a boy came out. He was short, with short dark hair and round eyes with too much white and not enough iris, making him look surprised. He was dressed in an apron like Sunyoung, though where hers had been white, his was black. Joonmyun thought that he might be more senior than she was, then, and felt sorry for what he had to ask of him.

“Hi,” Joonmyun said. “I’m Joonmyun.”

Kyungsoo looked both confused and wary. “Kyungsoo,” he replied. “Sunyoung said there were strange guys outside asking about tattoos, I guess you’re them?”

Joonmyun frowned, but nodded. He showed his tattoo to Kyungsoo. Almost like an echo, the others tilted theirs to show him, too.

“What is this, some kind of gang?” Kyungsoo asked, and began to back away, fear striking up in his eyes.

“You have one, too,” Joonmyun said, pointing at his wrist, which was bandaged up in gauze as if to protect from an injury that wasn’t there. “You’re one of us.”

“No,” Kyungsoo said. “I’m really not.”

Joonmyun sighed. “We’re trying to save Pathalff,” he began, and he was about to launch into his spiel, when Kyungsoo interrupted him.

“You can save the Boy Scout speech, I’m not interested in whatever you’re doing or selling.”

“You’re one of the twelve of us, we need you,” Joonmyun laid out, as if it hadn’t been clear the first time.

“If I miss one day of work, I’m fired,” Kyungsoo said. “I’ve worked too hard for this. I’m Sous Chef! I’m fifteen and I’m Sous Chef. Not a lot of people can say that.”

Joonmyun didn’t know what a Sous Chef is, but he knew that if they didn’t save Pathalff, there wouldn’t even be a restaurant for Kyungsoo to work in. He tried to explain this, but it fell on deaf ears. Kyungsoo wasn’t having any of it.

“Excuse me,” Kyungsoo said, “I need to get back to work. I’m sorry, really I am, but I can’t help you. You’ve got it wrong.” And then he walked back into the restaurant and shut the door very firmly in their faces.

“I guess that’s that then,” Joonmyun said, and he turned to leave. His wrist felt almost painfully naked, prickling as if it understood that it had been rejected. Even though there was another of them here, it was not to be. Not yet, at any rate.

It had been far too smooth so far, Joonmyun may have even jinxed it by thinking that nobody was going to refuse. They had the right to. But everyone so far had had a reason to leave. Kyungsoo had a reason to stay.

“We’re just going to leave him?” Lu Han asked, sputtering. “After all that?”

“We can’t very well kidnap him,” Joonmyun said. “We’ll get the others, and come back when there’s eleven of us. Maybe the threat will seem realer then. Now, at least, we should move on.”

“Can we not sleep first?” Sehun asked, and yawned.

“We slept longer than we should have,” Minseok replied. “But we could buy supplies first, right, Joonmyun? Supplies to get us towards Keltsa.”

Keltsa was the next town over from Dettish, over a day away. Gaining provisions sounded like a good idea.

“Okay,” he said. “Food, and then onward march.”

They were so close he could almost taste the end.


	20. Level Seven

Peach led them to a market further down the mountain.

They moved quickly, although none of them was particularly cheerful after being let down by Kyungsoo. They just wanted to buy supplies and get on their way to Keltsa.

The market was different from what they had expected. They had expected a small area, maybe only a few tables with some produce laid out. But the market was actually huge and sprawling, over ten tables staffed by men and women of all ages. There was even a young girl of less than ten years old manning a stand that appeared to sell lemon and orange juice.

Despite the fact that they were up a mountain, there was plenty of meat and milk to buy, and even some cheeses. Various fruit and vegetables were lying out on tables, shaded from the sun by cloth held up by wooden spokes attached to the tables. Together, they walked around the tables, picking nuts, hard cheeses and dried food; meats, fruit and vegetables alike. They also bought some fresh produce for that evening’s dinner, some vegetables and cheap cuts of beef and pork that had been sitting around all day, covered by thin sheets of see-through cloth so that the flies couldn’t get to them.

When everything was packaged up, everyone carrying something, they made their way to the clothing part of the market and bought their two newest companions some bags like those worn by the original four members of the party, though considerably smaller and cheaper. They used these bags to store some of the food and then doled out money between them in small cloth bags, keeping it all separate and therefore harder to lose. Their money was dwindling, Joonmyun noticed, though Zitao assured him that it was not all he had.

Armed with all the items they needed, they made their way down the road leading from the market, which took them along a winding path down the mountain, a path they hadn’t been able to see in the darkness. Of course there had been a path, Joonmyun realised. How else would they get produce up the mountain?

Once at the bottom of the mountain, they stopped so that Joonmyun could get the map out of his bag. He spread it open, all sides held by one of his friends, and checked the distance from Dettish to Keltsa.

Luckily for them, Keltsa was close by; eight to ten hours’ distance. They would arrive in time for breakfast, a little later than they had arrived at Dettish.

“Can we please sleep later tonight?” Sehun asked, still yawning. “It won’t make much difference if we finish our journey in the sunshine rather than the darkness.”

“It’ll only be good if there is one of us there,” Minseok said. “If we sleep, only to find out there is nobody there? We will have wasted our time.”

“And we’ll be closer to capture,” Joonmyun said quietly. “It’s too much of a risk, Sehun, when it’s only half a day’s walk from here. Sorry. We’ll get our chance to sleep, I promise you.”

They set off almost immediately, trekking across open plains towards where Keltsa should be.

None of them had ever been to Keltsa before, Joonmyun learnt as they made quiet talk about what they expected. Sehun had talked about it before, how it was a little like a country village. He’d been the one advocating they keep their clothes when they visited Keltsa, so they’d fit in.

Zitao said it was famous for having a Summer Palace, and he thought that the Royal Princes sometimes stayed there, but he couldn’t be sure when they did. Joonmyun hadn’t even known Pathalff _had_ Princes. He’d been so far removed from that sort of thing back in Thirrum. They hadn’t been the ones to collect the taxes; that had been the priests, so it hadn’t mattered to his family that their country was a monarchy. He gathered the impression that that had been the case for Jongin and Sehun as well.

The rest of the time they talked about inane things that served no purpose. Zitao said that sometimes he dreamt about video games, whatever they were, and wushu. Minseok thought about a sheep he’d once owned, and Sehun about a pig. Yixing thought about which herbs to pick for the best flavour and the best healing effects, which, Joonmyun realised, probably wasn’t that inane after all. As for the other two, they weren’t inane either. Lu Han only thought about freedom and relaxation, which was fair enough, really, and Jongin only thought about his family.

Joonmyun only thought about getting to the end of this journey and what he’d do then, but he didn’t say so.

They made one stop, late at night; separating to collect wood for a fire. They cooked the fresh produce they’d bought, roasting meat and vegetables over the fire until they were thoroughly cooked, and washing them down with water strained out from the air. It was an adequate meal, but after their lunch in the café, there was certainly something missing.

“This would be much better if we had a cook,” Lu Han mumbled. “I wish Kyungsoo would have come with us.”

Joonmyun only needed to look at him for him to quieten, just focusing on stuffing food into his mouth. Joonmyun understood where they were coming from, but there was nothing he could do yet. They couldn’t exactly kidnap Kyungsoo the way they’d kidnapped Minseok after rescuing Lu Han. That would have caused too much attention, and people would have looked for them. From now on, they needed to be as inconspicuous as they possibly could. It was too close to the end, yet not quite close enough, for them to be safe. Maybe once they had more party members, Kyungsoo would see sense and come with them.

Once they were full, all the fresh produce eaten, they stamped out the fire and kept moving, walking through the darkness with Peach and Zitao’s torch, now fully charged, to guide them. They didn’t speak during this second leg of the journey. Joonmyun didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to. He just wanted to make it to Keltsa safely in one piece, with all seven of them together. Talking somehow seemed like it would delay them, or endanger them. Clearly the rest felt the same, as they travelled for several hours with merely the sound of their breathing and their footfalls for company.

As the monsters were all asleep, they had a fairly easy journey to Keltsa, and they arrived, legs aching, after dawn had broken.

Despite having a Palace, Keltsa didn’t seem to be a very busy place. Instead, it seemed to be small and quaint, like a page torn out of a storybook; all cottages built far better than those back in Thirrum, and flowers everywhere. Keltsa was ground-level, unlike Dettish, and maybe the sun shone differently there, but it was bright—brighter than Joonmyun had ever seen before. He supposed the flowers helped. They were all kinds of colours that Joonmyun had never seen before, including a flower that he could have sworn was the same used to paint Jongin’s front door.

They found a picturesque little shop that would make them all breakfast; pancakes with little glass bowls of syrup to pour on top, served with chilled glasses of orange juice. They were delicious and Joonmyun felt very sated and relaxed.

Sitting there, in the little café with its soft light blue armchairs and delicate white decorations, Joonmyun could almost have forgotten that he was running from something evil. But he didn’t, because to stop thinking, even for a brief moment, could mean death for him or for his friends. Especially considering that Sehun had been right, and their clothing was far too modern for Keltsa. They were very obviously tourists, and that was a problem.

Once they’d finished their breakfast, they discussed quietly whether they should sleep before continuing their search. Sehun and Zitao were yawning and even Joonmyun felt unsteady on his feet, so they headed to a nearby inn, paying for a couple of rooms. They were even more expensive than the Dettish rooms and the person who gave them the keys seemed uncomfortable or annoyed that they only wanted two rooms for seven people, but he didn’t voice his complaints, just handed them their keys.

The rooms were large and clean and the beds incredibly inviting. Joonmyun changed into his pyjamas quickly, the other three doing the same, and then tucked himself into bed. Jongin climbed in after him, wrapping himself around Joonmyun like a very familiar limpet, and they drifted off to the sound of each other’s breathing.

 

 

 

He woke up early, before the rest, like he’d started doing. It was nice to have moments to himself, as they were getting sparser, the more people they collected.

Joonmyun knew he couldn’t stay in bed for long. Instead, after loosening Jongin’s grip, he checked through his bag to make sure everything was still as it should be. The money he’d been given was already starting to dwindle, and he wanted to make sure they saved it for when it was absolutely necessary. Maybe that would mean they wouldn’t be able to sleep in beds for a while, but he knew they would be able to cope.

It was nice to have slept in a bed two days on the go. He felt very rested and happy, even despite the situation. It was also rather strange that since leaving home and basically going on the run, he actually felt _more_ pampered than before. Sleeping in beds was a comfort he couldn’t risk too often, so it was nice when the opportunity arose.

The beds in the hotels were also far more comfortable than the mattress he had slept on back home. He wondered if his belongings had yet been repurposed by those living in Thirrum, or if they had destroyed them, as if he had infected them. And yet it was probably best not to think of such things.

Forcing himself out of bed, Joonmyun moved to shower in the small tiled bathroom, relaxing under the warm spray, and tried not to think of his past life.

Moments later, as he was drying himself with one of the supplied towels—not the fluffiest of things, but still more comfortable than anything he’d owned previously—he heard the sounds of the others waking up, and moving through into Joonmyun’s room, and he shook his head. He had work to do.

He refused to let them eat, instead immediately asking Peach to search the town. He knew that it would only delay them further to have more food; it was best to check if there was one of them there first. If not, they could get more supplies and move on hastily, leaving no evidence behind.

Peach concentrated for an extra-long time, before she opened her little robot cat eyes.

“Is there anyone here?” Sehun asked, sounding hopeful.

“Ye…es,” Peach said slowly. “But they’re in…you’re not going to like it.”

“Is it worse than the prison?” Jongin asked.

“Yes,” Peach said. “It’s the Summer Palace.”

“Oh,” the room chorused.

Twelve hours before, that would have meant nothing to Joonmyun. But after their discussion, Joonmyun felt far too aware of what that might mean for them.

“It could be anyone,” Zitao said, carefully, echoing Joonmyun’s thoughts, and their discussion last time, before the prison. “A visitor, or staff.”

“Or someone who needs protecting,” Minseok said, reaching out to take Lu Han’s hand. Lu Han said nothing, but he frowned a little.

“We won’t know until we go,” Joonmyun said firmly, knowing it was up to him, and that it was important. They had to find out. “How shall we do it this time?”

“They allow visitors in on certain days,” Peach said, eyes shut once again. “Three days a week, ten o’clock until three.”

“Today?” Joonmyun asked, hopeful.

Peach shook her head. “Tomorrow. But there’s a couple of school groups going in today. It’s all over the message boards.”

Joonmyun didn’t know what a message board was, or how she could read it, but he could hazard a guess at what that meant. “Could we sneak into the school groups?”

“I think they might be mixed,” she said, “so we probably could. If the teachers don’t know which students are going, they might miss a few extras.”

“And then we could slip away before they notice we’re with them,” Yixing said.

Joonmyun nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Should we all go?”

“If we go, we could grab them and leave quickly,” Jongin suggested.

The rest of the group agreed, none of them wanting to be away from the rest for too long, even though it would be much harder to hide seven of them.

Once they had decided to go, they cleaned up the rooms and left quickly, Peach directing them towards the Palace.

The Palace wasn’t as large as Joonmyun had imagined a Palace to be. It was more like a particularly large house—a manor, according to Zitao and Lu Han. It was mostly white and glass, far more glass than Joonmyun felt comfortable with, even though most of it was so dark he couldn’t see through it. Peach, after a quick search, said that most of the glass was one-way; only allowing those inside to see out, rather than those outside to see in.

“It still lets in light, though,” she said.

The Palace was surrounded by flowers, like the rest of Keltsa, and shone under the strange sunlight. There was a small pond out the front; a picturesque scene with a water feature cascading into the pool, birds drinking from it, and a small cat sunning herself on the grass.

Walking up to the front of the Palace was several groups of school children, totalling at least thirty. Some were as old as Jongin, but most as young as ten. Joonmyun wondered if they could convincingly look like they belonged with the groups, or if they looked too old. It was worth trying, at any rate.

It was easy enough to have Peach rub herself against all their ankles to help change their clothes into school uniforms, if a little time-consuming. Once she’d finished she was exhausted, and curled up in Zitao’s backpack to recharge.

The seven of them hurried over to the last school group, doing their best to appear like school children. Joonmyun had never been to school, so he had no idea if he was convincing at all. He watched the older children to see what they did, how they acted, to see what he should do. Luckily, they were mostly all on their best behaviour, which was easy enough to copy. It just meant that Joonmyun had to act innocent and not stand out, which was fine by him.

A tour guide, wearing a smart blue uniform, came out of the Palace to greet the students. “Good afternoon everyone,” he said. “I will be showing you around the Palace today. Please stay close by, and follow the main corridor. Please remember that this is also the home of many people, and keep noise to a minimum. Also, please don’t lift any of the barriers. They are there to protect the living spaces of those who live here.”

Joonmyun prayed that the person with the tattoo is one of the staff who they would meet on the tour, but he didn’t really think that they would be so lucky. It was far more likely that the person would be in the back part of the Palace, blocked away from their access.

It hadn’t stopped them in the prison, and it wasn’t going to stop them then, either. If necessary, Joonmyun was sure that Zitao could stop time for long enough that they could escape without being spotted by any staff. He just hoped that they wouldn’t need to use any of their powers.

They slipped in with the school children just fine, although maybe _too_ easily. Joonmyun wondered if that meant that the Princes weren’t in the Palace; surely they would have better security if they were? _Anyone_ could be mixed in with the school children, if it was this easy to hide.

The inside of the Palace was striking; all gold and creams and blues, with gilded glass vases of beautiful flowers from the garden over every wooden surface. There were large cabinets of intricately designed plates along the walls of the corridor. Several of the teachers were slapping at the hands of any child who went near them. Joonmyun did his best to avoid them. A broken vase or plate would cost more than his life was even worth.

“They’re breakable, Jihoon,” one teacher hissed at a particularly obstinate child. “Please don’t touch.”

They walked down a long corridor, locked rooms flanking them. Joonmyun wanted to open one of the rooms, any room, so they could get away, but the tour guide had an eagle eye and he wanted to draw as little attention to them as possible.

Eventually, most of the school group turned the corner at the end of the corridor, heading deeper into the Palace. Joonmyun deliberately stopped, bending down as if he was checking his shoes. He could sense the other six of his group stopping as well, making themselves appear as small as possible so their absences wouldn’t be noticed immediately.

A quick glance around showed that there was a small corridor a little further back up the corridor they’d come. They all headed towards it, and, after checking the corridor was empty, Lu Han slipped the rope blocking access to it off its hook. Once all of them were through, he reclosed the barrier quickly.

Peach, not quite asleep, murmured, “Around a couple of corners. I think.”

Joonmyun swallowed as they followed her instructions, nervous because it was so close. It could be anyone. It could be a servant, who wouldn’t be missed, or someone who _would_.

There was a boy standing in the corridor. Joonmyun didn’t think he was any older than himself, although the boy was better dressed and better poised, with a ramrod straight back. He was dressed all in white and purple, comfortable, baggy, but also stylish.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Lu Han said. “I think we might be lost. Could you help us, please?”

The boy turned to face them. He had a slightly canine face, with a frowning mouth and laughing eyes. “Well, alright,” he said, “but only because you called me ‘sir’.”

Joonmyun furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Where were you going?” the boy asked them.

“We were with the school group,” Yixing said. “We got lost.”

“Well,” the boy said. “If you go that way, you should meet them again.” He lifted his arm and pointed down the corridor, his shirt sleeve dropping slightly to reveal the tattoo.

It looked somewhat like a sun, Joonmyun thought, though he didn’t quite understand what power the boy had, but he understood that it was confirmation that he was one of them.

“You’re one of us,” Jongin said quietly.

“What?” the boy said, turning to face them. He looked confused and a little unnerved.

Jongin nodded to the other’s tattoo, and turned his wrist to face him. The rest of them, almost automatically at this point, showed theirs as well.

“Oh,” the boy said. “What does it mean?”

Joonmyun was almost shocked at the lack of reaction from the boy—he’d been expecting something like Kyungsoo and Minseok; fear, surprise, annoyance, worry they were a gang. But instead, as they gave him the speech, he seemed _excited_.

“This is something different,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this.” As he spoke, his excitement dulled a little. “Can you prove to me that you’re who you say you are?”

“Aside from the fact that your wrist will have stung when the mark appeared?” Zitao asked. The boy nodded. “What would you need?”

The boy turned to Joonmyun. “You said you have the power of water?”

Joonmyun nodded and held out his hand, focusing on drawing the water out of the air, creating the boy’s symbol out of water beads.

The excitement was back as quickly as it had gone, a smile spreading across the boy’s face. “Come this way,” he said, leading them up the corridor and deeper into the Palace.

“What’s your name?” Joonmyun asked.

“I’ll tell you everything when we get there,” the boy said over his shoulder.

The further into the Palace they went, the more practical everything became; less ornate wallpaper, less pointless decoration. Joonmyun wondered if the prettiness was for show—if it was for the visitors, not those who lived there. He was pretty sure they were well into the living area at that point.

During the walk, they spotted no staff or any other people at all. Joonmyun was confused by that. Where were they all? A Palace that big had to have people, surely? Why was the boy the only one?

Finally, they reached a large door. The boy opened it, ushering them inside and indicating for them to sit down.

“Today, I had my fortune read,” the boy said. “I was told that water was in my future, and it would bring me good luck. Only one person knows of this fortune but myself, and he hasn’t left the Palace. I had to test you, but now I know that you couldn’t have found out from him. You really do have the power of water.”

“Yes,” Joonmyun said, frowning slightly.

“My name is Byun Baekhyun,” the boy said, “and I’m bored here. My brother is really boring, and there’s never anyone around, and I’m not allowed to talk to the school children.”

“Why not?” Sehun asked.

“It wouldn’t be proper,” Baekhyun said, and then he rolled his eyes. “I hate it. I want to leave. I had half a mind to just tell my brother that I’m going to the Library to become a scholar—up until today. Now, I want to leave for a different reason.”

“Why are you stuck here?” Joonmyun asked. He felt like he was being slow, but he couldn’t quite understand what Baekhyun was telling him.

“I’m Byun Baekhyun,” Baekhyun repeated. “Second heir to the throne of Pathalff.”

“Oh,” Joonmyun whispered, shocked. His legs trembled, and if he hadn’t already been sitting, he thought he would have fallen.

It was _much_ worse than the prison.


End file.
